House of Shadows
by Mymomomo
Summary: The house at 15 Morrison Drive was supposed to be a fresh start, not the gateway to Ichigo and Toushiro's personal hell. Something malevolent is stewing, determined to shatter an already crumbling marriage and drag up horrors from the past.
1. 15 Morrison Drive

**New story time! I've actually been planning this one for a while now. I wanted to try my hand at horror and what better victims than Ichigo and Toushiro are there?**

**Hope you guys like it!**

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Ichigo Kurosaki-Hitsugaya hummed softly along to the radio as he drove down a narrow country road, swerving to avoid a shallow pothole. Pine forests bordered either side of the road and the crisp wind tousled his hair as it blew through the open window. As beautiful as the scenery was, he couldn't help but feel the slightest bit depressed; it was too different from the bustling streets and high-rise buildings of San Francisco. He had been driving for what felt like days and could have counted on one hand the number of buildings he had seen. It could be a good sort of different, but he hadn't been here long enough to tell.

He took a break from humming to sigh softly. He had reminded himself at least twenty times, in the past thirty minutes or so that the move was for the best; they needed to get away from San Francisco. But, honestly, right now Wyoming wasn't cutting it. He knew that their new house was right smack in the middle of wild, untamed nature, but he hadn't realised how wild and untamed the nature was turning out to be. All he could see were trees, lakes, and the occasional filed full of cows and sheep. Speaking of which, he slammed on the breaks as a heard of sheep darted out into the road. A middle-aged farmer waved apologetically at him and Ichigo nodded his head in acknowledgement. At least the people were friendly.

He glanced over to the passenger seat to see if the abrupt stop had upset his sleeping husband. Light snores told him otherwise and he smiled a little to see his head still resting against the car door; the seat belt straining at his chest. Usually, Toushiro was an impossibly light sleeper, but he had worn himself out driving nearly straight through the night. His medication didn't help much either.

Ten minutes later Ichigo began to see a few driveways – not more than pathways really – branching from the main road. A few of them were nicely kept, paved over and lined with neatly trimmed bushes or short brick walls. He paid attention to the number plates, hoping that he hadn't passed the one he was looking for.

"Fifteen, fifteen, fifteen," he muttered to himself; as if saying the word out loud would help him spot the number. He turned left a little further down the road onto a driveway that wasn't as nice as the others. Bare dirt and stones made the car shake as he drove along the narrow turns.

He let out another deep breath as he pulled up to the front of a rather large house and sat still for a few minutes to take it all in. He had seen pictures online; somehow it had seemed a bit smaller on the screen. It was a two story house – villa, or so the website had said – made predominantly of rough logs and grey stone. He was happy to see that the large windows had not been a lie and, overall, it seemed to resemble what he had looked at online. He probably should have come to check in out in person before deciding to buy, but their move had been rushed. He pulled up a little further, so that they wouldn't have to walk too far to unload boxes then leaned over to wake Toushiro.

"Hey, Shiro, we're here," he said gently touching his husband's shoulder.

Toushiro jolted awake, causing Ichigo to jump slightly, and ran a hand down his face, breathing deeply.

"Bad dream?" Ichigo asked.

"It's nothing, "Toushiro replied, shaking his head. He abruptly opened the door and got out of the car. "So, this is it, huh?"

Ichigo followed him, quickly turning off the car. "Yeah, it's pretty nice, right?"

Toushiro climbed the short flight of stairs to the front porch letting his fingers trail along the rough wood and stared in through the wide glass doors. Ichigo threw him the keys and after taking a few seconds to figure out which key unlocked what he stepped through the threshold. Ichigo heard him take a sharp breath as he glanced around the foyer. They were met with a wide stair case, polished to perfection. To the right was the living room and the left lead to the kitchen. The large windows let in tonnes of light and high ceilings gave the rooms an airy atmosphere. He turned towards the living room, clicking his tongue when one of the floor boards creaked.

"It's pretty old," Ichigo explained, "but I was assured that everything has been refurbished, so we don't need to worry about anything falling apart on us."

Toushiro nodded and wandered over to one of the windows that looked over the patio at the back of the house and the sparse forest beyond.

"It originally belonged to the owner of an old coal mine, so I guess he went a little overboard on the blueprints. But it's nice, right? I mean it has five bedrooms, three bathrooms, a finished basement _and _attic."

Toushiro glanced at him for a second before turning back to the window. Ichigo's stomach sank when he saw that his lips were set in a grim line.

"I still think it's too big for just two people," he said at length.

Ichigo set his jaw and slowly lowered himself on to the couch which the movers had pushed into a corner.

"And it's too isolated."

Ichigo exhaled forcefully. "We moved here because of your job. I did the best I could for such short notice."

He saw Toushiro roll his eyes.

"Anyway, this house was an absolute steal. We may as well have gotten it for free. Having to wake up a little earlier to get to work doesn't seem so bad when you think of it."

"We'll make up the difference in buying gas."

They were both silent. Ichigo ground his teeth together and Toushiro seemed to be ensnared by the scenery. Eventually he stood up, dragging a hand through his hair – he was sure that it was more grey than ginger at this point.

"I'm going to take a look at the bedrooms."

Toushiro didn't acknowledge him when he left.

...

The wooden finish was had been what ultimately made Ichigo decide on this house. It was rustic yet extravagant; he still couldn't believe how low the asking price was. There had to be a reason of course, but Ichigo didn't care to dwell on it for too long. Everything else was perfect, they were in absolute seclusion, but their neighbours weren't too far. Most of the houses on Morrison Drive were vacation homes, but the realtor had told him that there were a few families who lived here full time. There was even a small lake that boarded the back side of the property and the surrounding forest would be amazing to hike or camp. Ichigo had been giddy with excitement, almost euphoric, when he researched the house and its surroundings.

Ichigo floated in and out of the upstairs rooms, aside from the master bedroom, he had asked the movers to leave the others bare. He would turn one into his home office, of course, and he hoped to fill the other three rooms soon. The carpeting had been removed upon his request. Thankfully, the wood underneath was in good enough condition. All they had needed to do was sand it down and polish it. He had been pretty optimistic when he saw the number of rooms, but he had always wanted a big family. And this house would serve as the perfect start to it.

Each room was rather spacious and had windows either looking to the front or back of the house. The master bedroom took up majority of left side, with its adjoining bathroom, and he was pleased to discover that he would be able to see the sunrise from the room. His best ideas always came with the rising sun. There was just something about watching the world turn from a dreary grey to rich colours that made his fingers itch to write.

One of the other rooms had a bay window – it would make a wonderful window seat for a little girl; he could read her fairy tales and put up flouncy curtains. The two other rooms opened up to the balcony at the back of the house. It was an airy setup; Ichigo could tell which walls had been broken down and where doors had been added. He had always hated closed up spaces; they made him feel like he was suffocating. He had avoided certain rooms in his San Francisco condo for that very reason.

He opened the door to the last room, and hesitated; there would be a problem with the last room. The floors were pretty dark, but off to the far corner was a dark stain. It looked as if a large amount of some liquid had been dropped and left to soak in. He stooped down and touched the edge of the stain with his index finger. Did the renovators have an accident and not tell him? He didn't remember anything about telling them to stain the floor darker; the natural colour was fine. Maybe a previous owner had wanted something different, but then quickly realised that the colour looked too similar to dried blood and changed their mind.

Ichigo hesitated and let out a breath that he didn't realise he had been holding while his stomach churned lightly. His breath condensed in front of his face and he jumped back in surprise. He stared unbelievingly; it was summer and too warm for that to happen. He shook his head; he must have been more tired than he thought. But then he noticed goose bumps on his arms and that the room was, in fact, very chilly. Frowning, he stood up and searched the wall for a thermostat. Maybe something was up with the air conditioning.

Spying the small, white box he got up, rubbing his arms. The reading said that the temperature matched the rest of the house and Ichigo's frown deepened; that wasn't right. He then placed his hands above the air vents in the floor only to find out that nothing was blowing from them. Great, he huffed, the system was definitely broken in this room. The cold metal stung his fingers, when he accidentally brushed it and he jolted again, losing his balance and stumbling backwards into the window. A frigid puff of air grazed his back and he frowned in confusion. He turned around and studied the window, paying close attention to the seal. A broken seal could possibly be the cause of the strange temperature and draft. It seemed to be intact, from what he could tell, however. How weird. The churning in his stomach intensified and he could feel his heart begin to thud heavily.

Then the door slammed shut with an echoing bang and Ichigo jumped yet again, knocking his forehead against the glass. He swore softly and heard faint chuckling sound from behind him.

"Very funny, Shiro," he said, rolling his eyes, "I could have given myself a concussion-" his words died in his throat when he realised that the door was firmly shut and no one else was in the room.

Ichigo didn't necessarily deny the existence of supernatural forces. The fact that his mind went to this conclusion first spoke volumes, however. But, he would prefer not to come into contact with any ghosts. He swallowed thickly and stumbled to the door. Maybe they shouldn't use this room for the time being. His spine tingled and he could have sworn that he felt something watching him as he left the room.

He still felt a prickly feeling along his spine when he went back down stairs. He tried to shake it off by rubbing his palms up and down his arms, but it was as if the cold had seeped into his bones.

"Cold?" Toushiro asked entering the house with a box in his arms, "We could turn the AC down; it doesn't need to be blasting as hard as it is now anyway."

Ichigo shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine. Do you need help with that?"

Toushiro allowed him to take the box and went back out to the car for another. Ichigo put the box down near the staircase, hoping that Toushiro didn't want to unpack everything right away. As he was straightening up he felt a cool pair of lips brush against his cheeks. He started slightly before he realised that it was his husband.

Toushiro had jerked back with a small frown on his face and muttered a quiet apology. Ichigo forced a smile before grabbing his husband by the waist and hugging him. Toushiro sighed softly and Ichigo felt him relax into the hug.

"Sorry about earlier," Toushiro said softly, "forgot to take my... uh... my pills."

Ichigo hugged him tighter. "It's okay. So, do we have to unpack all of this right now?"

Toushiro snorted quietly and patted Ichigo's chest. "No, we can tackle it later; I'm still kind of sleepy."

Ichigo kissed his temple. "Great, I wanted to check out the town, but if you're tired we could always-"

"No, you can go ahead."

"You sure? We could also swing by the school to see what it's like."

"I don't want to think about work now. Go Ichigo; I'm just going to take a nap, don't worry."

Ichigo stooped down to peck Toushiro's nose. "Call me if you need anything, okay?"

...

It took Ichigo thirty minutes to get to the small town, Rayle. A rickety welcome sign was the only real indication that he had arrived. It looked like the typical rural village with small brick and wooden buildings, churches with steeples, telephone poles, and narrow streets with cobble stone sidewalks. Ichigo grinned, as far flung as the town was it seemed very welcoming. A few towns people stopped and stared as he drove past, recognising him as a stranger. Ichigo couldn't help but feel a bit nervous; he didn't know anyone here. He drove around for a few more minutes mentally cataloguing places like the post office and a few small restaurants.

Toushiro would probably be hungry by the time he got back, but he knew that he wouldn't want to go out to eat. He was getting better, but it was still hard to persuade him to leave the house for anything other than work. Maybe picking something up from the grocery market would be the best option. He thought he had seen one but when he turned around he couldn't seem to find it. Chewing the inside of his cheek he pulled up next to a group of women who were walking towards him and called out the window, hopping that they didn't think he was some creep.

"Uh, hi, sorry to disturb you, but do you know where I can find a grocery store?"

"Sure," one of them answered brightly, "keep going down this street then make a left on Oak Avenue. It's the first building you see on your right."

Ichigo smiled. Their accents were thick, but it added to the rustic atmosphere. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

As he drove off he saw her turn to her friends and say something that caused them to follow his car with their eyes. The grocery store was just where she said it would be, but he had almost passed straight by not realising that it would be so small. The shelves turned out to be stocked with generic brands that he had never heard of, but the fresh food section was amazing. Well, that was a plus at least, he could get a lot of fresh meat and produce here – and maybe finally start that diet that he read about a few months ago.

Ichigo set down his basket to examine a few heads of broccoli.

"I wouldn't take any of those; they're a few weeks old," a friendly voice said from beside him.

"Oh," Ichigo mumbled, unsure what else to say.

"You're new here, right? I don't think I've ever seen you around."

"Yeah," he turned and held out his hand, "I'm Ichigo Kurosaki-Hitsugaya."

A young man in a bright yellow apron took his hand a shook it. "You're the ones who just moved into that house on Morrison Drive, the new school teacher?"

Ichigo blinked, but it was a small town news would travel around. "Yes, but it's my partner that's the teacher."

The clerk tilted his head. "I thought it was a man they hired."

"Oh, he is..."

There was a short pause in which Ichigo fumbled with the head of broccoli.

"You're one of them gays?"

Ichigo hesitated; the way the clerk had phrased that did not leave him with a comforting feeling. He had never hidden the fact that he was gay from anyone, but San Francisco was sure to be way more liberal than rural Wyoming. He had heard horror stories about small towns like this. "Yeah, hope that won't be a problem."

The clerk smiled. "Nah, well, for me at least. Anyway, you'd be best off with this," he handed Ichigo a different head of broccoli from a basket near his feet.

"Thanks..." he glanced to the name plate pinned to his apron, "Richard..."

"No problem... ah what's your name again."

"Ichigo."

"You're not American?"

He smothered an annoyed sigh. "I am; my Dad's from Japan though."

"Oh, we got another Asian family living on Morrison Drive too. You guys should meet up."

Ichigo nodded. He was sure Richard didn't mean to offend, but the comments still rubbed him the wrong way. He tried not to show his annoyance as he thanked the clerk once more. He could have been a lot worse from what he understood about small, isolated towns, especially if they were religious, so he knew better than to complain.

...

"Hey, Shiro, I bought some wine," Ichigo called as he entered the house, "we should celebrate the move." There was no response. "Shiro?"

He was probably still sleeping, so Ichigo put the groceries in the kitchen and circled through the dining room and back out to the living room. Toushiro had brought out a few more boxes from the car and set them near the couch, but Ichigo stopped short when he saw that one of the boxes was ripped open and the contents strewn all over the floor. He sighed as he bent over to clear up the items. Had an animal gotten in or something? The door had been unlocked when he came back –

Something crunched under his foot and he glanced downward to see a few shards of glass strewn about. And, of course, he wouldn't remember where he had packed the cleaning supplies. Rolling his eyes he stepped away from the glass only to see a broken picture frame and a photograph lying face down. He picked up the picture and dusted it off with his sleeve before flipping it over. It was then that he knew that an animal hadn't got in. He tucked the photograph into his back pocket before turning to the rest of the mess.

A patchwork blanket was strewn over the couch, several toy trucks were scattered about the floor, a few pairs of tiny pants and shirts lay half folded near the box, and a little slip-on sneaker lay on its side – Ichigo spied its twin on the opposite side of the living room. He clenched his palms and felt a pang in his chest and his throat constricted a bit, but above all that he felt frustration. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths to make sure that he voice wouldn't tremble.

"Toushiro!" he yelled, then waited a few minutes. He heard light footsteps descend the stairs and his husband entered the living room.

"Oh, you're back I didn't hear-" he froze mid sentence, teal-blue eyes widening as they went from the open box at Ichigo's feet to the baby things strewn over the room. "Ichigo, what the hell did you do?"

"What did _I_ do? I came home to this mess. What did you do while I was gone?"

Toushiro wrapped his arms around his stomach. "I thought we were leaving this stuff behind. How did it get here?" his voice trembled.

"Shiro-"

"You brought it? After I explicitly told you not to?"

"Toushiro-"

"No, Ichigo, no. I can't..." he backed out of the living room.

"Okay, I get why you're mad, but did you really have to throw stuff around?"

Toushiro blinked, "I didn't do this."

"Then who the hell did?"

Toushiro covered his eyes with a hand and took a few unsteady breaths. "I told you to get rid of this stuff." He turned and left the room. "Clean this up; I can't look at any of it."

Ichigo growled softly. "You know, we have to talk about this sooner or later; you can't keep on avoiding the subject!"

He clenched his fists when he received no response. He wouldn't deny that things had been difficult lately, but he was honestly trying his best to make things better. He had pushed and encouraged Toushiro through it all; progress had been slow but he had never once given up. But now, he felt like there wasn't anything else he could do. He shuffled to the couch, pulled out the photograph from his pocket, and ran his fingers over the image. A lone tear rolled down his cheek and he brushed it away before it could signal others to follow.

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**Annnd cue tragic back stories...**

**Just wanna say that this will be M rated, but not explicit.**

**Also moved from the typical Japanese setting, because I wanted to do something a bit more culturally diverse, and experiment with characters of different races and all the lovely learning opportunities and not so lovely prejudices that go along with it.**

**So, I hope you guys enjoy it thus far and please tell me what you think. Any feedback is welcome.**

**-Mymomomo**


	2. Meet and Greet

**Thanks to those who reviewed and followed/favourited last time. **

**All I can say is all the questions you have will be answered soon (those were the exact questions I wanted you to ask)**

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Ichigo didn't sleep well at all that night. No matter which way he turned, fluffed his pillow, or arranged the blankets around his body he could not fall asleep. Something felt off. It wasn't the silence of the house; the lack of sirens wailing was something he thought that he would never miss. Yet, he would have preferred that to the eerie creaking of the old house or the scratching of a tree branch on the window. He shut his eyes, hoping that sleep would soon find him, but he only succeeded in waking Toushiro a couple of times.

He thought that he had drifted off some time after midnight. He must have, because there was a weird shadow at the foot of the bed and he remembered waking with a jolt and startling Toushiro from sleep. The albino had fixed him with an annoyed, but tired, stare before drifting off seconds later. Ichigo tried punching his pillow again and settling on his side and he came the closest he had to falling asleep that night.

Ichigo always believed that the strangest dreams came when you were in the stage right before sleep took over. How else would he explain what felt like icy fingers running down his neck? His eyes snapped open and he rolled into Toushiro, who woke with a frustrated huff.

"Ichigo, again?" he muttered, rolling over to face his husband, "What's wrong?"

The redhead paused. "It's nothing, go back to sleep."

Toushiro shot him a withering glare. "I'm trying, but someone keeps on waking me up."

"I just feel weird."

"Sick?"

"No, just strange."

Toushiro raised an eyebrow.

"It's probably just the new environment. Go back to sleep, babe."

Toushiro sighed and nuzzled into his pillow. He was snoring softly not a minute later. The corners of Ichigo's mouth twitched upwards and he shut his eyes, trying once more to fall asleep. The cold fingers started running up and down his spine shortly afterwards and he jerked away with a panicked grunt.

"Ichigo," Toushiro growled, his eyes still shut, "I have work in a few hours."

"Yeah, sorry." He sat up, rubbing his face and hopped out of bed. Toushiro cracked open an eye to see what he was doing. "Can't sleep," he explained as he padded out of the bedroom. He heard Toushiro huff again and pull the blankets over his head.

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck while he waited for the coffee to brew. It was still dark out, but he doubted that he would be able to sleep. He could still feel the strange cold feeling on his spine. Frowning, he pressed his fingertips to the nape of his neck, aside from a few goose bumps, his skin was smooth and clear. What the hell was that, he asked himself, why would he dream of cold fingers? And why couldn't he get to sleep? He was exhausted and couldn't wait to get to bed yesterday. The drive to the house had been long, and he had spent the remainder of the evening cleaning and unpacking boxes. But lying in bed had felt weird, he couldn't think of any other word to describe it.

The coffee machine began to hiss and the kitchen was filled with the rich smell of dark-roast coffee. He poured out a giant mug and wondered into the living room. A floor board creaked under his weight and he plopped himself down on the couch with a long sigh. He sat with his elbows on his knees, staring into his mug off coffee for what felt like ages. The only sound was the loud ticking of the clock on the mantle and soon enough it began to drive Ichigo crazy. He glared at the ornate metal hands wondering how passing time could be so agitating. Well, given that he was sitting around doing nothing he was bound to be agitated.

A cool breeze blew through the room and the loose floorboard creaked. A shiver ran up his spine for the umpteenth time that night – morning – and he looked around, hopping that Toushiro had entered the living room.

"Shiro?" he called softly, but there was no answer. He took a large gulp of coffee, managing to scald his tongue and throat and reached for the patchwork blanket that was still strewn over the back of the couch.

The floorboard creaked again and Ichigo's stomach jolted. He slowly turned to the entrance only to be met with shadows. His heart hammered and his gut churned all the while he cursed every horror movie he could think of and wrapped the blanket around his shoulders. Eventually he convinced himself to get up and turn on all the lights possible and he sat down on the middle of the couch with his computer on his lap and earbuds in, blasting music to drown out the silence of the house.

...

There was a slight tremor in Toushiro's hands as he forked some scrambled eggs into his mouth. Ichigo hid a frown and concentrated on his own hands. Sometimes he wondered if all those side effects were worth taking medication, but he had to admit that there was an improvement in his husband's behaviour. The number of 'dark days' Toushiro had was becoming less and less.

"Are you nervous about school?" Ichigo asked, hoping to break the silence.

Toushiro set his fork down and took a sip of coffee. "A little, I suppose."

"You shouldn't be; you'll do great."

Toushiro nodded and went back to his eggs.

"Which tie are you wearing?" Ichigo asked after a few beats.

Toushiro's brow dipped minutely and he glanced down at his white button-up and grey slacks. "I don't know."

"You should do the green one. I think black would scare the kids, and first impressions are everything after all."

Toushiro rolled his eyes. "Okay, green it is."

"You should probably wear a blazer too. It's the first day and all."

"Ichigo," Toushiro growled in annoyance. "I know how to dress."

Ichigo held his hands up in submission. "Sorry. It's just that you haven't been at work for a while now-"

He shot Ichigo a death glare. "I know. I haven't forgotten how to dress myself."

"I didn't say that you did-"

Toushiro abruptly pushed back his chair from the table and brought his dishes to the sink.

Ichigo sighed internally and rubbed his temples with his fingertips. "I'll get that," he said when Toushiro started to wash his plate, "You go finish getting ready."

Toushiro dropped the plate with a loud clunk and left the kitchen without another word. Ichigo sighed aloud this time and rested his head in his hands, his appetite suddenly gone.

He emptied his plate into the garbage bin under the sink and ripped open a packet of sponges. He had washed all the dishes and wiped down the kitchen table by the time Toushiro came back down stairs dressed in an emerald green tie and blazer and held a brief case in one hand.

"I'm off," he said called.

"Don't forget your lunch."

He poked his head into the kitchen. "You made me lunch?"

Ichigo jerked his head to a brown paper bag sitting on the counter.

Toushiro's mouth flickered into a smile for a second. "Thank you," he said, picking up the bag.

Ichigo nodded. "And you're forgetting something else."

"I am?"

Ichigo pointedly raised his eyebrows and Toushiro sighed before coming over to his husband and stretching up on his toes. Ichigo bent down and delivered a quick kiss to Toushiro's cheek.

"Have a great first day," he said, pulling his face into a smile.

"I'll try." He retreated from the kitchen but paused by the front door. "Are you going to be okay here without a car?"

"Yeah," Ichigo said shrugging, "I'll probably end up unpacking a bit more and maybe do some writing."

"If you have a problem, call me."

"Yup."

Ichigo heard the car start up a few minutes later then the crunch of gravel as Toushiro drove down the driveway. And just like that, he was all alone in the big, creepy house.

Ichigo couldn't take the silence. He fished out a pair of speakers from one of the boxes he had moved to his office and plugged them into his laptop as he went about re-arranging the furniture and moving around boxes. The living room was more or less done; after Toushiro's storm yesterday he had re-packed everything except the patchwork blanket and spent the rest of the afternoon setting up the furniture. He had put up pictures on the mantle: a professional shot of him and Toushiro on their wedding day, an old photo of him and his younger sisters when they were kids, a shot of the Kurosaki family plus Toushiro, and a picture of a chubby, smiling baby. He was hesitant in putting up the last picture. When Toushiro saw it he would throw a fit, but Ichigo couldn't bring himself to hide the photo back in the box. It was something they needed to talk about, and having the picture on the mantle would serve as a constant reminder, or at least that was what Ichigo would like to think.

He spent the rest of the morning unpacking kitchen utensils and organising the cupboards, and brewed himself another cup of coffee afterwards. He decided to tackle the bedroom and his office after a quick break for lunch – a salad made from the fresh vegetables he had bought yesterday.

"The bedroom it is then," he muttered to himself and relocated his laptop and music to the master bedroom. He started with by putting their clothes into the closet but he hadn't got very much done when his cell phone rang. He laid down a few of Toushiro's jackets on the bed before answering the phone, feeling a tinge of relief upon seeing a picture of his father light up the screen.

"Hey, dad," he said, grinning. "What's up?"

"I should be asking you that," his father's voice sounded a bit muffled.

"Are you driving?"

"No, it's Karin's turn. I just wanted to ask how the house was. Everything okay?"

Ichigo sat down on the edge of the bed and brought one of his feet up against the bedpost. "Yeah, I still can't believe how cheap they sold it to us. It's just like it was in the pictures, if anything I'd say it's a bit bigger."

"Bigger?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I'm happy it turned out alright. Unpacking going okay?"

"Yup, I'm almost done. I just need the stuff you guys are bringing."

"We should be there soon. How's Toushiro?"

Ichigo hesitated and picked at a loose thread on the bed sheet. "He started work today."

"Yes, but how _is _he?"

"He's... he's pretty much the same. I mean, you can tell he's getting better, but the doctor said progress will be slow."

His father sighed heavily.

"Hang in there, Ichigo," he heard his sister, Yuzu, speak up.

"Am I on speaker?"

"Yup," his other sister, Karin, shouted.

"Guys, you know I don't like that," he muttered.

"Stop being such a baby," Karin teased, "anyway, I'd say we have about 9 more hours before we get to Wyoming. You think you can handle it for that long?"

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "He's my husband, geez, you guys talk about him like he's a yoke around my neck."

There was a bloated pause.

"Guys..." Ichigo huffed.

"Well," Yuzu began, "we know how hard it's been since... the accident. We don't want you to stress yourself out... again."

"If it gets to be too much, call us." Karin instructed.

The thread broke away from the sheet. "I'm fine, he's fine. Yes, things have been a little tense, but like I said; he's getting better."

"We believe you, son," his father said. Ichigo could practically hear the smile in his voice. He was about to smile back when he heard a grating noise, like someone was dragging something heavy across the floor. A cold shiver travelled up his spine again and he strained his ears, hopping that he was hearing things.

"Ichigo..." his father questioned, "are you okay."

Ichigo blinked realising that his father had been talking for some time. "Uh what did you..." the dragging noise started again, this time louder. "Sorry, dad, I uh... I think I hear something I should probably check out. Call you later?"

"Yeah, we'll be sitting in a car all day, so whatever suits you."

"Okay, bye guys."

"Bye, Ichigo," his sisters sang.

He swallowed loudly as he pressed the end call button and slowly turned towards the door. His heart leapt into his mouth when the dragging started again.

"What the hell?" he muttered. Had something gotten into the house? He slid his phone into his pocket and slowly stood up. The realtor really should have told him how many odd noises this house made. The dragging noise started again and Ichigo took a deep breath before going to investigate. He slowly pushed the door to the bedroom open and stared out into the empty hallway.

He had yet to roll down the long rug that was supposed to line the hallway, so his footsteps echoed slightly with a staccato of thuds. The dragging seemed to be coming from one of the other bedrooms; maybe a door had blown open. He shook his head; there was probably a logical explanation for the noise. He was only freaking himself out; he was tired and running on coffee, of course he would be a bit jumpy. He ran his fingertips along the wall as he walked along the hallway; the dragging noise sounded again, but abruptly stopped once he stood outside the door to the last room. Ichigo couldn't stop his stomach from churning; it was the room with the weird stain and AC problem. Of course it would be, he sighed.

He held his breath as he pushed the door open and slowly stepped inside. When he saw what lay on the other side he froze, his feet turned into lead. The room was set up; furniture, bedding, drapes, and rugs were immaculately put into place. Ichigo's breath caught in his throat and he stood motionless, staring at the familiar set up. A tiny bed with a guard rail was placed across from the window, next to that was a miniature desk with crayons strewn across the surface. Green drapes hung around the window, blowing gently in an unknown breeze, and the bed was messily made; fluffy, green blankets were lumpy as if hiding toys and stuffed animals underneath.

Ichigo took a deep breath, trying to stave off the wetness that had sprung to his eyes. His hands trembled as he wrapped them around himself. What kind of messed up dream was this? It had to be a dream; Toushiro would have never set up the room like this. He could barely even look at pictures, much less touch old furniture. Ichigo shuffled to the bed and ran a hand along the blanket; it was ice cold, he wouldn't have been surprised if he had found it frozen solid. He took a deep, shuddering breath and turned away. In the corner a shaggy rug had been thrown over the stain on the floor, but Ichigo could have sworn that it was seeping through the fabric; a deep, dark, blood red. The room started to spin a bit and his stomach was threatening to make him sick. He put a hand against the wall to steady himself, but now his head was spinning to match the room. He stumbled to the doorway and managed to bump into the dresser and almost knocked over a full length mirror that had been leaning against the wall. He caught the glass, but went tumbling to his knees. Ichigo squeezed his eyes shut for a minute, trying to stop the colours from swirling around his vision. In the back of his mind he could hear tiny footsteps running around the room, and childish laughter coupled with the sound of clapping.

_Daddy, look at me!_

His eyes stung and he gagged. Goose bumps rose on his arms and legs, but it wasn't from the cold this time. No, not this. He hadn't had these dreams in a while, and he was glad for it; they were painful and had him feeling off for days on end. The childish voice sung and the little feet pattered around the room, playing.

_Daddy, daddy, daddy!_

Ichigo covered his mouth with his hands and cracked open his eyes. A salty tear dripped down his cheek. He didn't expect to see anything, especially not a young boy jumping around the room; it was all in his head. The voices, the sounds, the furniture; everything was just a memory. He raised his head, still facing the mirror, and saw a small, dark shadow move in the corner of his vision.

"Ken!" he shouted, his voice breaking. He shot to his feet and succeeded in falling off the couch.

Ichigo groaned rubbing his bruised back and looked around in confusion. He was lying on the floor between the couch and coffee table. A half eaten salad sat next to his dead laptop and the patchwork blanket was wrapped around his legs. He sat up, dragging his hands down his face, wiping away the wetness around his eyes. Of course, it was a dream; he had probably fallen asleep when he was taking a break from cleaning. He took a deep, calming breath and hoisted himself back up onto the couch. His head was spinning slightly and his limbs were stiff and clumsy, moving seconds after he meant to. He hunched over, with his head in his hands and sat completely still for a few minutes, just breathing evenly. He hated having dreams like that; he hated remembering, it was worse than –

The doorbell rang, causing him to jump out of his skin. It took Ichigo almost a minute to calm himself; since when did the house have a doorbell? After smoothing down his wrinkled shirt and pausing to finger comb his hair he answered the door, hopping that he didn't look like a complete mess and that his smile wasn't too forced.

An odd looking couple stood on the other side of the door. When he said odd he was referring to the fact that the man was over six feet tall with tattoos and bright red, spiked hair while the woman was petite and wore a string of pearls around her neck and a pink, floral dress with a white cardigan.

"Uh, hi," Ichigo said brightly once he had found his voice.

The man stretched out his hand and Ichigo hesitated minutely before grasping it in a firm shake. "Hi, I'm Renji Abarai and this is my wife, Rukia. We're your neighbours." He smiled widely.

"Oh neighbours, I didn't know we had neighbours." Ichigo scratched the back of his neck.

Renji chuckled. "Well there is a distance of a few miles between us; we're not really neighbours per say-"

"We live at 11 Morrison," Rukia cut him off. "Anyway, I hope we're not intruding, but we just wanted to introduce ourselves and bring over a little gift." She held out a plate of cookies.

"Oh, uh, thanks," Ichigo chuckled, "Why don't you guys come in." He stepped to the side and allowed them to enter. "Sorry, it's a mess; I'm still in the process of unpacking." He led them to the living room, blushing as he rushed to pick up his dirty plate and laptop from the coffee table.

"It's not a problem, looks better than our house on a good day," Renji joked. Rukia slapped him on the arm.

"That's not true; we're not messy at all... Oh, that's not to say your house is messy... um"

"Ichigo, sorry, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Ichigo Kurosaki-Hitsugaya."

Renji nodded. "So Ichigo, what do you think of the place so far?"

"Uh, it's quiet and it's going to take some time to get used to. But I think I'll grow to like it."

Rukia smiled. "The quiet is nice most of the time. We went to New York once; I hated how every minute you could hear someone shouting, or some commotion going on around the corner."

"And the sirens were terrible," Renji added.

Ichigo smiled. "I'm from San Francisco, it's not as bad as New York, but I guess after all the city noises it's hard to get used to the quiet; feels like something is missing."

Renji whistled, "San Francisco? What a move, huh? Can I ask why?"

Ichigo chewed the inside of his cheek. "Uh, my partner found a job at the high school here. And I guess we needed a new atmosphere. Some stuff happed that we needed to get away from."

Rukia glared at her husband who just shrugged guiltily.

"Can I get you guys anything to drink?" Ichigo asked, "Uh, we don't have much yet... oh wait, I got a bottle of wine yesterday, if you're interested in that."

They agreed to wine and Ichigo left to grab the bottle and a couple of glasses. As he left he heard Rukia whisper harshly to Renji.

"You don't just ask someone something like that; you could tell how uncomfortable he was answering."

Ichigo felt his cheeks heat and at the same time a sharp pang in his gut.

He ended up talking to Rukia and Renji for most of the afternoon. Renji offered to help him move some boxes and Rukia helped to tidy up some of the rooms. He hooked up the music again and when the sky began to turn into a dusky orange they had set up his office and were working on the exercising equipment in the basement. Rukia had perched herself on a Swiss ball and was reading the building instructions aloud while Ichigo and Renji bickered amongst various parts of a dismantled treadmill.

"I hope all of this fancy workout stuff isn't just for show," Renji smirked.

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't spend all this money on something to not use it. Of course I workout."

"Maybe Renji can join you some time," Rukia said with a malicious smirk, "he's been growing a bit of pudge lately."

"I have not," Renji exclaimed then turned to Ichigo. "She thinks our marriage is a free licence to insult me."

Rukia stuck out her tongue at him.

"You're preaching to the choir," Ichigo held up his left hand and pointed to the ring on his finger.

Renji's eyebrows shot up and a deep chuckle bubbled up from his chest. Ichigo couldn't help but grin, wondering what was so funny. He glanced to Rukia who simply rolled her eyes.

"We should get drinks sometime," Renji chuckled, wiping his eyes.

"Yeah, that sounds great-"

"Ichigo? Where are you?" a voice called from upstairs. Ichigo's sentence died on his tongue and he turned to the stairs.

"Oh, looks like Toushiro's home," he said, standing up and brushing off his pants. "Come I'll introduce you."

He saw Renji turn to Rukia with a questioning look in his eyes and he mouthed Toushiro's name. Ichigo felt his shoulders slump; he really liked Renji and Rukia and hoped that they didn't have any problems with him being gay. He led them back upstairs and they met Toushiro pulling off his shoes by the stairs.

"Whose car is that in the driveway?" Toushiro asked upon seeing Ichigo, but then his eyes flew to Rukia and Renji when they emerged from the basement. He straightened and eyed them with an impassive face.

"This is Rukia and Renji Abarai, our neighbours," Ichigo said, placing a hand on Toushiro's shoulder. Then turning back to the Abarais, "And this is Toushiro, my husband."

"Husband?" Renji Echoed and Rukia not so subtly stomped on his foot.

Ichigo felt Toushiro tense beside him. "Is there anything wrong with that?" Toushiro challenged.

"No, not at all." Renji held up his hands. "I just assumed you were a woman when Ichigo said you worked at the school."

"So just because I work in education I can't be a man?"

"Shiro..." Ichigo sighed.

Rukia elbowed Renji in the ribs. "What he meant is that people here are very old fashioned, the concept of a male teacher is still foreign to them. I think there are only three male teachers currently on staff... well four including-"

"I'm not a teacher; I'm the vice principal."

"Oh... "Rukia blushed in embarrassment, "Sorry for assuming..." she trailed off when Toushiro folded his arms across his chest.

Ichigo gently tapped Toushiro on his shoulder. "It's alright, Rukia. We understand the stereotypes; it's kind of like the concept of male nurses, right?"

Rukia seemed to be minutely relieved, but Renji was now eyeing Toushiro with a hint of derision. Ichigo sighed inwardly, wishing that Toushiro would be the least bit civil.

"So, how was work, Shiro?" Ichigo asked, hoping to save the conversation. "Hope everyone was _nice_." He emphasised the word by pointedly squeezing his husband's shoulder.

Toushiro unfolded his arms. "Has Ichigo offered you anything to eat or drink?"

They refused the refreshments, explaining that Ichigo had already been a generous host, but Toushiro insisted and said he would prepare something anyway. More than likely he wanted to be alone for a while to regain his bearings.

They settled once more in the living room and Toushiro returned shortly with a plate of crackers and cheese and a bowl of fruit.

"So, forgive me for being so blunt," Renji began, "and I don't mean any offence, but how do people react when they find out you're gay. I know there are some people here who are against it, but I'm sure this little backwards town is much different than San Francisco. When our girls first went to boarding school it was a bit of a shock to learn of all the different lifestyles."

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck. "Uh, well we haven't really met many people yet, but no one's been outright rude to us. Right, Shiro?"

"There were a few parents at the school who were a bit _concerned_, but I didn't deal with them too much today. I'll sure they'll be back later, though."

There were a few minutes of silence where Rukia glanced around the room, and Renji seemed interested in picking apart a gape. Ichigo sent a pointed gaze to Toushiro who just shrugged and looked away.

"Oh, you have kids?" Rukia asked suddenly, going over to the mantle to get a closer look at the photographs.

Toushiro drew in a sharp breath and turned to Ichigo with fire in his eyes. Rukia turned back to them when she heard Toushiro and her cheeks turned pink.

"Um, sorry, was that a bad question?"

Ichigo sighed, while Toushiro began to shake beside him, he fisted the fabric of his pants so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"No, it's... uh," Ichigo took a deep breath. "We had a son... but he... uh he-"

Toushiro snarled softly and turned towards the Abarais. "It's none of your business."

"Toushiro," Ichigo admonished, placing a hand on his husband's arm to calm him down. Toushiro shook it off and got to his feet.

"And I would appreciate it if you both would leave."

"Toushiro!"

He turned to Ichigo breathing heavily. His face was paler than normal and his eyes were slightly misty. He sent him a venomous glare before storming from the living room. Rukia and Renji were awkwardly frozen in one spot.

Ichigo breathed forcefully through his nose. "Sorry, about him. He still takes Ken's death hard..."

Renji got up and wrapped an arm around Rukia's shoulders. "Nah, we're sorry for asking..."

Ichigo hung his head. "Still... that was embarrassing. He didn't mean any of it; he's just really emotional."

"It's okay, Ichigo, but we should... uh... we should probably get going now," Renji said, haltingly.

Ichigo nodded.

"Can I still call you about getting drinks?"

Ichigo's eyes widened but he nodded with a sad smile. "Yeah, of course. Please do actually; I think I'll go crazy in the house all by myself."

Renji patted his shoulder as they left. Ichigo wandered over to one of the windows and pressed his forehead against the glace. He suddenly felt exhausted and a hard lump had formed in his throat. So, he did the only logical thing he could think of and reached into his pocket for his cell. He pulled up a number before his vision got too blurry and hit call.

"Hey, Ichigo." His father's voice was cheery and Ichigo felt himself break apart. "Ichigo? Ichigo what happened, son; is everything alright?"

"No."

* * *

**So I got a little excited while typing this and it turned out longer than expected.**

** I want a really tense atmosphere, so if the characters are a little OOC I apologise. They are trying to cope with serious trauma. Also, Toushiro being an albino is my way of trying to turn crazy anime character appearances into sometime more realistic (I say as I attempt to write a story with ghosts)**

**I would be really grateful if you guys tell me what you think so far.**

**-Mymomomo**


	3. First Signs

"If you'll excuse me, it's starting to rain and I'd rather not get wet," Toushiro said curtly when he felt a few raindrops on his face.

The bird-like woman pursed her lips as he got into his car. He hadn't meant to snap, but he was tired. And when he was tired being polite was the last thing on his mind.

"My email is posted on the school website," he added in an effort to rectify the situation, lest she start talking about how he was homosexual _and_ rude. "If you feel the need to discuss anything further then you can contact me there."

She narrowed her eyes at him but scampered to the shelter of her own car to avoid the incoming shower. When he could no longer see the woman he leaned heavily against the back of his seat and closed his eyes. He was completely exhausted; the past two days had been nothing but a bombardment of _concerned _parents. He knew that anything short of putting his entire personal life on display would be futile, but he was not willing to do that. This particular woman was at the head of the pack of do-gooder, religious, home-makers. She had nothing better to do than make snide remarks about his sexuality and protest his position. Sure enough, Gabriel Heathers High was under fire for hiring him, even if his credentials should have put any qualms to rest. A few board members and the principal had told him not to worry, or take any action; his position was secure and the number of _concerned_ individuals was only a fraction of the school population. Hiring someone like him showed that the school was forward-thinking and progressive. Toushiro's skin had itched upon hearing that. He was gay, yes, not a collector's item. Still, he had to assure more than a few parents that he was not going to interfere with any of their children; he was happi- he was married for fuck's sake. And he was good at working with children, so when someone made that insinuation just because of his sexual orientation it made him physically sick.

It had been a long two days, indeed. The rain was coming down heavily now and he grumbled as he started the car. He really was not looking forward to the long drive home in this weather. The roads weren't that great and visibility was sure to be poor. He wiped his palms on his pants before gripping the staring-wheel. Maybe he should stop for coffee before heading home; he was feeling particularly worn-down and didn't completely trust himself not to fall asleep at the wheel. Ichigo wouldn't be very happy if he got into another accident.

The drive back home was surprisingly uneventful. It was a little challenging, but Toushiro was practically the only one on the road. The large, log house sat in darkness when he pulled into the driveway. Toushiro's stomach churned slightly and he ground his teeth. Ichigo had probably fallen asleep and forgotten to turn on the lights. He hated when he did that; it was unsafe and anyone could sneak up on him. He grabbed his briefcase and made a dash for the front door. It was still raining pretty heavily and mud splashed up onto his pants and covered his shoes.

"Ichigo, I'm home," he called as he unlocked the door and wiped his feet on the mat. He was met with silence. "Ichigo?" He flipped on the lights in the foyer and poked his head into the living room. His husband wasn't asleep on the couch, though his laptop was open on the coffee table. Toushiro huffed in annoyance and stomped into the kitchen. He was about to call for Ichigo once more when he saw a piece of notebook paper on the island.

_Gone out with Renji; I'll be back late._

Toushiro crumpled the note in his fist and tossed it into the trash. Why couldn't he have just texted him? Sometimes Ichigo really didn't think. He pulled out a carton of yogurt from the fridge and put the kettle on the stove. Ichigo, while not a particularly out-going or sociable person, tended to make friends very easily. Despite how Toushiro had acted, Renji seemed to see something in his husband. And, never one to sit still, Ichigo jumped on any excuse to leave the house, almost as if he hated it. He probably did hate it; he had been fine in San Francisco. He could have stayed there without a problem. Toushiro chewed the inside of his cheek. If only he hadn't forced them to move, if only he had been strong enough to stop himself from falling apart. He shouldn't have dragged Ichigo into his misery.

A sharp sting in the side of his mouth broke his trail of thoughts and he tasted blood. He rubbed at the inside of his cheek with his tongue, trying to soothe the pain. Toushiro felt sick to his stomach; it clenched painfully and he wanted to vomit. He switched off the stove and threw away his nearly-full yogurt before shuffling upstairs. A shower would probably help him feel better. Probably.

The master bathroom was almost as large as their bedroom. A white, porcelain tub took up one wall and a shower, with frosted, glass doors, was set across from it. Rain splattered nosily against the huge windows. He was not comfortable with having floor to ceiling windows in such an intimate area. Even if sparse woods separated them from their neighbours, he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him, especially at night.

Toushiro had no idea where Ichigo had pulled all the money for this house from. He had said that it was dirt cheap, but Toushiro couldn't help but feel that he was hiding something. His books did bring in a decent amount of cash, and ever since his second movie adaptation was released they had bit more money than they knew what to do with. But, not nearly enough to buy this _villa_ and its surrounding land. Ichigo brushed him off every time he asked, though.

He roughly unknotted his tie, frowning at his trembling hands. He took a few deep breaths, trying to steady them, but he knew that it wasn't going to work. It was with an incredible amount of focus that he managed to remove his contact lenses and not gouge out his eyes. His jaw clenched tightly as he removed his shirt next, surreptitiously looking over his shoulder at the window. Even with his blurry vision, his ribs seemed more prominent that night, sharply jutting from under his skin, and it looked like he could cut a steak with his hipbones. Toushiro was disgusted with himself; he ripped his eyes away from his body and shut them against the nausea that was building in his stomach. His body betrayed just how truly weak he was, while his mind was reliant on the very medication that had caused him to shake and lose his appetite. He clenched his palms when the nausea didn't abate. With a few shaky breaths he finished undressing and hastily stepped into the shower.

The frosted glass provided good enough cover as any. If he couldn't see out of it very well then no one could see in. He lathered a bar of soap and scrubbed his body, pointedly ignoring all the protruding bones that hadn't been there a few months ago. The warm water made him feel marginally better. It loosened tight muscles and offered him a small respite against his thoughts. His mind cleared as he methodically scrubbed his skin, and for once he was able to think of nothing. He didn't think of how hard reacquainting himself to work was, or of the intrusive parents or their religious, brainwashed children. He neither thought of how many times he snapped at his husband, nor how he almost broke down crying that day. He did not think about how his father was right in saying that the world would be better without him. And he certainly did not think of how he had failed himself, Ichigo, and Ken.

The sound of a door opening was barely audible over the sound of the shower and rain.

"Ichigo?" he called, but once again there was no answer. Had the man gone deaf? Toushiro ground his teeth as a spark of annoyance ignited in his chest. He fought it down; it wasn't Ichigo's fault if he didn't hear him. This wasn't something to get mad over. He breathed deeply and stepped back under the shower only to find out that it had gone cold. He jumped out from under the spray, cursing under his breath. The hot water shouldn't have run out that fast. Goose-bumps rose up all over his body as he reached out to shut off the water. As he turned the tap he heard a clunk come from somewhere in the bathroom.

He rolled his eyes and tried to stave off his shivering by folding his arms across his chest. "Ichigo, how many times do I have to say it? Don't watch me when I shower; it's creepy." He cracked the shower door open and yanked his towel from the rack. "Why didn't you answer me when you came in?"

Once again Ichigo said nothing. This time Toushiro allowed himself to feel a little miffed. He wrapped his towel around his waist and wrenched the glass door open. "Ichigo, why-"

The bathroom was empty. Toushiro frowned deeply; he could have sworn that he heard someone. His cheeks heated slightly as he went over to the sink and clumsily took his toothbrush from its holder. He hoped he wasn't starting to hear things. Another side effect that he didn't want to deal with? The doctors hadn't mentioned hallucinating, though, and they had gone through long lists.

He sighed tiredly as he rinsed his mouth and set his toothbrush back down. How late did Ichigo plan on staying out anyway? Toushiro wondered and pulled out a prescription bottle from the drawer beside the sink. He carefully tipped a blue and white capsule into his palm and stared at it for a few moments before grimacing and knocking it back with a glass of water. He hated having to be on medication, he hated the side effects, always feeling tired, shaking, and sometimes nauseated. He closed his eyes and leaned against the counter, willing his stomach not to reject the few spoons of yogurt he'd eaten. He took a few steadying breaths and when he opened his eyes he stumbled backwards in shock.

"What the fuck?" he muttered. Had he blacked out and not noticed? He had been in the bathroom when he closed his eyes a second ago and now he was in a bedroom. He squinted as he looked around, making out familiar, child-sized furniture.

His stomach plummeted. He wanted to retch. His chest tightened. Toushiro stumbled backwards into the door as if he had been physically struck. This was Ken's room. The bed, the desk, even the fluffy, green blanket all belonged to his son. What was he doing in Ken's room? Or rather, what was Ken's room doing here? He told Ichigo not to bring anything to do with Ken. He couldn't handle it. He knew he would break down again when the memories came flooding back and he remembered what he had done. His stomach rolled like a stormy sea and he felt dizzy; the nausea had increased and he had to cover his mouth to keep from vomiting.

He shut his eyes and turned around to place his forehead against the door. Why did his mind always go to such a dark place, why did he always have to put himself into this dark pit of emotions? He was trying to get better, damnit. He ground his teeth together; he wanted to break something, to rip something apart and throw the pieces against the walls. He almost spun around and overturned the dresser when a cold hand on his shoulder prevented him from moving.

"What the hell?" Toushiro shouted craning his neck to look over his shoulder. If Ichigo was – there was no one there.

His breath caught in his throat. All of this was a hallucination, it had to be. He clenched his jaw tightly and reached for the doorknob. His hand was roughly yanked back and he was pushed up against the wood. Toushiro's eyes went wide and he drew in a sharp breath. His eyesight wasn't as bad as to not be able to make out a person, but even as he craned his neck again he couldn't see anyone.

He began to panic when his arm was gripped tighter, almost painfully, and he felt something on his neck, something that felt like cold breathing. In fact everything in the room was cold and his towel didn't do anything to help. He had Goosebumps from this shower, but now it felt like his skin had grown scales. Frigid shivers ran down his spine and this time his trembling wasn't from his medication. A small whimper escaped his mouth in a puff of condensation as he felt something settle over him, pushing him harder against the door. It felt almost like a pressure, a cold, suffocating pressure.

He pushed back when he felt something scarily similar to fingers toy with the edge of his towel. His arm was released, but then he felt, was that a tongue, on his neck. His heart pounded frantically and he reached out for the doorknob again. He rammed his knuckles into the brass before he got a grip and tried to yank it open. The knob turned but the door stayed firmly shut. He drew in a sharp breath, as the back of his neck was tightly gripped and his face was shoved against the door. He squirmed, breathing heavily, but the panic made it impossible for the oxygen to reach his brain. His stomach was a whirlpool, and bile, mixed with the acid from his stomach filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin. All the while he was rattling the doorknob fervidly.

Just as he was about to scream for help the door was pushed open, shoving him to the ground. The pressure dissipated in an instant and he was left on the ground panting like an overworked dog, with vomit on his chin and chest.

"Shiro? What're doing in here?" Ichigo poked his head into the room.

Toushiro fought to calm himself and he hastily wiped his chin. Ichigo dove to his knees, suddenly alert, and hovered over him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm fine."

Ichigo tilted his head. "Are you sick? Is it the medication?"

Toushiro shook his head and shakily got to his feet. He needed to get out of this room. He heard Ichigo sigh and follow him.

...

Sometime after his second shower, the water had miraculously gotten warm again, Ichigo managed to wrap his arms around him and refused to let go. Toushiro didn't want him to let go. His heart was still hammering hours later. But he knew that if he didn't make Ichigo get off of him he would know something was wrong. He didn't need to tell him that he was now hallucinating – how else could he describe what had happened in the room? A _ghost_? Besides, Ichigo wouldn't have set up Ken's things. He may have brought them to the new house, but he wouldn't have set them up, knowing how Toushiro would take it. Ichigo may have been stubborn, but he wasn't insensitive. He wouldn't have gone behind his back. He wouldn't play with his mental state like that. So, Toushiro had to be hallucinating. But, if he was hallucinating, he wouldn't be fit to work. He'd have to stay at home. And he couldn't do that, he just couldn't. It had ended badly the last time and he didn't want to repeat it. He didn't trust himself. So, he pulled away from Ichigo's embrace.

Ichigo wined softly, obviously a bit tipsy from his night out, and pouted. Toushiro rolled his eyes, and picked up his briefcase from where he sat it at the foot of the bed. He snapped it open and pulled out a thin, paperback book.

Ichigo sighed, "How was work?"

"It was okay, I suppose. I have to go through the student handbook by tomorrow, though."

"Why? You gonna have a test?"

Toushiro rolled his eyes again and slipped under the covers. "That joke is getting old." Ichigo chuckled softly. "Have you seen my glasses?"

"Weren't they in the bathroom?"

Toushiro huffed and kicked off the sheets before Ichigo pulled him back.

"I'll get them; need to brush my teeth anyway."

Toushiro rearranged the pillows and turned on his bedside lamp while his husband disappeared into the bathroom.

"You should come out with us next time," Ichigo called through the door. "It was fun. Some asshole tried to start something with me for being gay, but Renji and a few other guys shut him down. You should have seen it. I knew we were gonna meet those kind of assholes here, but I didn't think that so many people would have our backs."

Toushiro hummed, idly thumbing the pages of the handbook. He couldn't go out even if he wanted to; he wasn't supposed to drink alcohol while on medication. And he would rather die than be sober and have to deal with everyone else's drunken idiocy. When would Ichigo understand that?

"What about at the school? You said you had a few problems yesterday."

"It's nothing. You just said there are people who will stand up for us."

Ichigo was silent for a while.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked haltingly, "I mean, you threw up. You're not supposed to get sick enough to throw up."

"I'm fine," Toushiro called, frowning. He felt agitation rise from the bottom of his chest.

"Did you eat?"

"Yes."

"_What_ did you eat?"

He huffed as the agitation grew. Again with all the questions, he couldn't really blame Ichigo for not trusting him, but he couldn't help getting angry at him. "Why do you care?" he snapped. "I had yogurt."

Ichigo emerged from the bathroom and handed him his glasses. "You really should be eating better than that-"

"Well I'm not hungry." He grabbed the glasses and turned so he didn't have to see Ichigo get into bed.

"I know, babe, it's just that... I'm worried about you."

His agitation turned into dull anger and he ground his teeth. "You don't have to be."

"But-"

"I can take care of myself, for fuck's sake. I have been, long before you ever showed up, so just stop it."

Ichigo tensed visibly and he paused halfway into bed. The ensuing silence was suffocating, like a wet blanket. Toushiro ground his teeth and seethed while Ichigo slowly backed away.

"I think I'll get some writing done before I go to sleep."

He always said that when he intended to sleep on the couch, away from Toushiro's unexplained temper. He watched him leave and shut the door quietly from the corner of his eyes. Once alone, Toushiro growled loudly and flung the book across the room as hard as he could. It landed with a rustle of papers and he slumped back against the pillows. Damn Ichigo and his questions, damn his temper, damn his medication, and damn this goddamn house. He ripped his glasses from his face and carelessly dropped them on the nightstand. Small, hot tears were forming at the corners of his eyes and he buried his face in his pillow. A part of him hoped that he would suffocate that night.

He woke when Ichigo wormed his way under the blankets much later and rolled over, surprised. Ichigo's only response was to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. Toushiro felt like the biggest asshole in the entire world as he turned away and tried to get back to sleep.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he wrung the sheets, nails scrapping against the fabric with a smooth, scratching sound.

"It's okay, baby," Ichigo whispered back, "I understand."

Toushiro's chest tightened and for once he was glad for how drowsy his medication made him, because he didn't want to stay awake to feel the gargantuan guilt that shrouded his shoulders.

* * *

**Hope you guys can even remember what happened in the last chapter :/ either way this should answer some questions, and hopefully cause more. I'm sure a few of you can piece together what happened to Ken. **

**Also, albinism is related to poor eyesight, due to the lack of pigmentation and crossing over of more optic fibres than normal. So, there's a reason behind Toushiro's glasses (besides fulfilling one of my head canons). Though, I must admit that writing Toushiro this way was a bit challenging. Hope the reasons for his personality change are becoming clear. **

**As always, I'd love to hear what you guys think so far. **


	4. Games with a Ghost

The clock on the mantle ticked away. Ichigo hated it. Its loud repetitive tick-tocking made his skin itch so badly that he wanted to crawl out of his body. Even his earbuds and turning his music to the highest volume didn't help to block it out. The metal hands moved slowly, mechanically and his heartbeat slowed to match. If he listened to it any longer he would go insane. He thought they could have gotten rid of it with the move. Even in San Francisco it had annoyed him to no end; the way it had echoed around the living room reminding him how quickly time passed and how little he was doing with himself. Toushiro said the problem would have been easily solved if he just used his office. The same went for this house; he couldn't hear the clock from upstairs, but he found writing at a desk to be stifling. He only ever used his office when it was crunch time and he couldn't afford to be distracted.

Ichigo gave up sometime around two am. His eyes were dry and tired, the words were beginning to blur on his monitor, and he could not take the damn clock ticking anymore. The silence of the rest of the house made it worse. So, he shut his laptop, set it on the coffee table, and stretched. His shoulders popped and his neck cracked as he let out a loud groan in relief. He swung his legs up and was about to pull the patch-work quilt over him when a picture of Toushiro sleeping alone flashed through his mind. He sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. It wasn't really Toushiro's fault for snapping like that. He shouldn't take it to heart. He set his feet back on the ground, but made no move to leave the couch. Besides, Toushiro would most likely feel better in the morning; he usually did. Plus, the new house, moving, was supposed to be a fresh start. He couldn't afford to fall back into the same pattern they had in San Francisco where Toushiro had been at his worst and he had done nothing to help. He sighed softly as he stood and shuffled to the stairs.

Ichigo opened the door as quietly as he could and tiptoed to the bed. Toushiro was sleeping on his side, curled around a pillow. The redhead smiled slightly as he slipped under the covers, causing Toushiro to stir. He groggily rolled over to face him, looking slightly confused. Ichigo pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, willing him to fall back asleep. When Toushiro rolled away from him and pulled the sheets up to his chin Ichigo held back a sigh; sometimes he didn't know what to do about his husband's mood swings. He couldn't pretend that they didn't affect him, he couldn't ignore them. He had tried, but now he felt worn down, and every time Toushiro pushed him away, he couldn't lie to himself; it hurt –

"Sorry," Toushiro mumbled softly, as he wrung the sheets, soft scrapping noises echoed around the otherwise silent room.

Then he did something like that, giving Ichigo a glimpse of the man he used to love, the person he had married and promised to spend the rest of his life with. Ichigo knew what Toushiro was going through; he had been at his side during all the doctor visits, he had picked him up when he broke down, and had braved his violent storms. He would patiently until the real Toushiro returned to him.

"It's okay, baby, I understand," he whispered, but from Toushiro's lack of response, Ichigo wasn't sure if he was awake to hear him.

Ichigo rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Maybe sleeping on the couch would have been the better option that night. The buzz from the alcohol earlier had long since faded and he wished he had another beer – or something stronger – to get him through the rest of the night. The shadows on the ceiling began to swirl as he felt himself drift off and his thoughts slowed to a halt.

The next second Ichigo woke, gasping for air, only he couldn't. There was a vice-like pressure around his neck, preventing him from breathing. He coughed, hands flying to his throat, but his hands were forced away with an icy gust of wind. He cracked open his eyes when the pressure changed, somewhat, and it felt like a body was on top of him, pinning him to the bed. He felt cold, strong hands surround his neck, digging into his windpipe. His vision grew blurry, darkness was swimming around him, but he could just make out a dark figure hovering over him. Despite the dizziness from the lack of oxygen he thrashed around, trying to knock the person off of him. He tried to yell but all that escaped his throat was a strangled, gurgling noise. The hands on his neck tightened, burning his skin in their iciness. He kicked, he flailed his arms and he tried to yell again. His head felt like it was going to explode, his eyes pushed against their sockets, and he felt a trail of saliva leak from the corner of his open mouth.

"Ichigo!"

A small hand touched his shoulder and just like that he could breathe. The figure on top of him disappeared in a blink and air flooded his starved lungs. Ichigo sat up, coughing and rubbing his neck. His skin was covered in goose bumps, his heart thudded heavily and quickly, but he felt dizzy and the room was swaying even though he wasn't standing. He looked around through the hot tears that that wet his eyes, expecting to see someone standing next to the bed with a knife or gun, but the room was empty. He reached over to turn on his bedside lamp and warm, orange-yellow light spread out over the room. Shadows danced in the corners and grey, morning light bled from behind the curtains, but nothing was amiss. He tried to calm his racing heart and regulate his breathing.

"Ichigo?" Toushiro asked softly, "What's the matter?"

Ichigo took a few moments to collect himself before turning to his husband. "Nothing-" he coughed to clear his raspy voice, "Nothing, just a bad dream."

Toushiro tilted his head. "You sounded like you couldn't breathe."

Ichigo continued to massage his throat. "Realistic dream..." he muttered. He turned off the lamp and lay back down. "Either way let's get back to sleep."

"It's about time for me to get up anyway," Toushiro sighed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Ichigo grumbled sitting up again. "Ugh, already?"

Toushiro pushed him back down. "I can get my own breakfast; you go back to sleep."

"Okay," he sighed, pulling the sheets to his shoulders. He pretended to be asleep as Toushiro moved around the room, getting ready for his day. The bathroom door open and closed a few times, he heard the toilet flush and the faucet run, but he was too worked up to fall back asleep. His throat still hurt, he could feel the ghost of hands around his neck. He shuddered and burrowed deeper into the blankets. What the hell kind of dream had that been anyway? Sure, he had had weird dreams before; he had dreamt of nearly dying, but of someone strangling him? Maybe he should change his diet; he had been feeling a little sluggish lately. That would mean he would have to make another trip to the grocery market. But, he didn't have a car yet; his dad had called yesterday to say that they would be spending a few days sightseeing. It was nice of him to offer to drive Ichigo's truck from San Francisco to let him spend more time with Toushiro, but he was beginning to feel like he was trapped in the house. He could ask Renji to take him, but he had his own things to worry about and Ichigo didn't want to seem needy.

Toushiro lightly brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, causing him to crack open an eye.

"I'm leaving in a bit," he murmured and pressed his lips to Ichigo's temple.

"'Kay, have a good day, babe."

"You too."

Ichigo strained his ears to hear Toushiro move around downstairs for a short while before the front door closed and he heard his car start and pull out of the driveway. He ripped the sheets from his body and sat up, rubbing his face.

And so another day starts, he thought glumly as he stood and stumbled to the bathroom, casually stripping out of his night clothes. The warm shower helped last night's tension ease away and he was able to forget his dream for a while. That is, until he wiped the fog away from the mirror and was about to spread shaving cream over his jaw and neck. He paused and leaned in closer when he saw faint reddish-purple bruises encircling his neck.

Frowning, he pressed his fingertips to the marks, wincing as they throbbed.

"What the fuck?" he muttered aloud. How? Did he fight himself in his sleep? Did Toushi- No, he killed the thought as it emerged. Was there someone else in the house with them? He shook his head; that was impossible. They had a security system, and he had been sure to lock all the doors and windows every night. So how... maybe he had done it to himself. If he dreamt that someone was chocking him then he could have possibly tried to get their hands away from his neck. He very well could have done this to himself. Still, he took a few deep, calming breaths before spreading the shaving cream over his face and picking up his razor.

After a quick breakfast of oatmeal with chia seeds and a banana he opened his laptop. But, with no deadlines to meet, no new emails from his publisher, and with what had been going on lately he had next to no drive to begin writing. He sighed, resting his head against the backrest of the couch. He could go workout to take his mind off of things, but he already showered and he was feeling very lethargic. Everything was unpacked; he was just waiting for his dad and sisters to arrive with the rest of their stuff. He chewed the inside of his cheek; there was nothing to do. They hadn't set up the cable yet, so mindlessly watching TV was off the menu. He was about to deflate with a huff, but he remembered that he had recently made a _Netflix_ account. It wasn't too early to waste the day doing nothing, right?

He glanced to the aggravating clock; yes it was. He ran a hand through his hair making a mental list of all he could possibly think of to do. Well... he could... he sighed tiredly. The back room, with Ken's stuff... Toushiro was obviously disturbed by it even though he hadn't mentioned anything last night. Ichigo hadn't set the furniture up himself, and Toushiro wouldn't have dared touch any of it. But, he must have. He had probably done it in one of his 'moods'; he could be unpredictable. Ichigo had come home to complete chaos twice before. Broken vases, pictures ripped from the walls, bookcases over turned, sheets ripped, and a husband vehemently crying in the middle of it all. The next day he had cleaned obsessively.

It was best if he took apart the furniture and put it away, before Toushiro broke down again.

Ichigo jumped to his feet, located a wrench and a few other tools from the hall closet and grabbed a few boxes from the pile in a corner of the basement. The room wasn't as cold as the last time he had been in it, but there was still a noticeable draft flowing through. He was glad for the _Under Armour_ turtleneck he had worn to hide the bruises – just in case he got any unexpected visitors. He started by folding the bedding and rug, and taking down the drapes. He put away all the toys and sat down in the middle of the floor and began to take apart the bed.

He tried his hardest not to think about what he was doing. This was the second time he had to pack away Ken's things. He clenched his jaw to the point of hurting and refused to blink, lest and tears start to fall. His chest was tight, but with deep, even breaths he managed to ignore the lump in his throat. He hadn't wanted to pack up Ken's room the first time, but when Toushiro began to spend all his time in the room, he had no choice. Putting everything away felt like he was sealing his son's coffin, cementing the fact that he was gone and never coming back. He had cried the first time.

Ichigo sniffed and rubbed his nose. He couldn't feel it, but a line of snot on his sleeve told him that it was running. Either from the cold, or from the fact that he was trying his hardest not to cry he didn't know. He took apart the desk next, running his fingers over the scratches, crayon marks, and drawings done in permanent marker which he couldn't quite manage to scrub off. They had gotten Ken a desk because he saw Ichigo's own and was adamant that he wanted to be like daddy. The Three-year-old couldn't write yet, but he had knelt on his chair and drew his heart out. There were always crayons all over the floor, and his little, pudgy hands constantly smelt of wax. Ichigo smiled faintly and a tear leaked from the corner of his eye.

When he realised, with trembling hands, and numb fingers, that the dresser was packed with little clothes, he took a step back let a few tears fall, leaving trails that instantly cooled on his cheeks, and decided that he couldn't do this anymore. He couldn't shut Ken away in a bunch of boxes, not again. He closed the drawer with a firm thud and left the room. He leaned against the wall of the hallway and wiped the leftover tears from his face. Why had he thought that this would be a good idea? He almost didn't get through it the first time. He took a shuddering breath, as he rubbed feeling back into his hands and arms. His skin was a bit chilled, and he needed something to take his mind off of Ken. He didn't want to spend another day consumed in grief. This house wasn't supposed to be full of bad memories.

Ichigo made himself a cup of green tea and sat cross-legged on the couch. He pulled the patchwork quilt over him and set his laptop on the coffee table as the opening sequence of a new comedy show started.

However, as soon as he leaned against the arm rest he felt his eyes begin to droop and he was snoring moments later. What did he expect really? Staying up to avoid his husband until past midnight then waking up to a nightmare?

Ichigo yawned, stretching his arms over his head as sunlight seeped through the spaces in the blinds. His arms brushed against smooth, silk sheets. A periodic, cool breeze blew over his torso from the air conditioning unit on the wall. He took a deep breath, the 'Greek Seaside' scent from the plug-in air freshener was strong in the air. He heard a soft groan from next to him and a pale, thin arm was thrown across his chest.

"You're still in bed?" he mumbled as he ran his fingers along the smooth, almost hairless, arm.

"Mmmm, it's Saturday, don't have to get up," Toushiro murmured groggily, snuggling into Ichigo's side and wormed a foot under Ichigo's calves.

"And Ken hasn't come to wake us up yet?" he asked as he rolled over to face his husband. Even though he had just woken up Toushiro's eyes were bright, their greenish-blue hue was more vivid than Ichigo remembered. His light – a few shades lighter than platinum blond – hair stuck up in every direction possible while some locks were glued to his face from spending the night pressed against the pillow. Lines of sunlight patterned his body, illuminating the otherwise invisible stubble that coated his jaw, and defined his mostly translucent eyebrows and eyelashes. Even after all these years, Ichigo felt warmth spread from his chest to the tips of his toes whenever he studied his husband's face.

Toushiro yawned. "He's at your dad's, remember? He wanted to take him to that kids' show-thing today."

"Oh, right." He reached out and pulled Toushiro into his chest. "That means we have the whole day to ourselves." He felt him smile. "We haven't had time to ourselves, in like... forever."

"Well, since we adopted Ken."

"No even before that; since we got married, since we started dating... since I spilled tea on you at that coffee shop."

Toushiro shook his head and traced an invisible pattern across Ichigo's chest as he snorted softly. "You remember that? That was ages ago."

"Most embarrassing moment of my life, but it was when I finally plucked up the courage to ask you out. How could I forget?"

He chuckled and pressed his forehead against Ichigo's shoulder. "You were such an idiot back then."

"Yet, you still said yes when I asked you on a date."

"Only to save you a modicum of embarrassment, you spilt your tea, tripped me, and knocked over my tray. The least I could do was say yes."

"I know; you don't have to remind me what happened."

Toushiro laughed softly and stopped his wandering fingers to pat Ichigo on the chest, attempting to soothe the sting of the memory. "What time is it by the way?"

Ichigo rolled over; brining his husband with him with a hand clamped around his back, and felt around his bedside table for his phone. Toushiro huffed and dug his chin into Ichigo's shoulder in protest.

"Hey, stop it. It's nine thirty – stop it," Toushiro's pointy chin was a weapon, Ichigo firmly believed. He rolled them over again, pinning him to the mattress.

"I'm not a toy, Ichigo," Toushiro growled in fake annoyance; he was still grinning playfully. "Stop moving me around like that."

Ichigo smiled innocently and dipped down to kiss his forehead. "I wouldn't move you around so much if you put on a bit of muscle."

Toushiro rolled his eyes, "Well, I'm sorry that I don't work from home and have all the free time you do."

Ichigo chuckled, "If you'd just wake up to go jogging with me-"

Toushiro pressed a finger to Ichigo's lips. "We both know that's not happening."

"Fine, die of heart disease. See if I care."Ichigo licked the finger, causing Toushiro to pull his hand away and scrunch his nose.

"Oh, you'll care. You'll care a lot."

"Yeah, I will," he admitted and leaned down again to kiss his forehead, but Toushiro stopped him and guided his face to kiss his lips.

"Nine thirty, huh? I'd give us... two hours before we have to have to get up."

Ichigo braced himself on his elbows as Toushiro wrapped his arms around his neck and gently nibbled on his bottom lip. Ichigo smiled, capturing his husband's mouth with his. He loved how Toushiro's fiery disposition seeped into his kisses. He was never gentle, all force and passion, something that contrasted with his size and delicate features. Their teeth clashed, breath mingled, and tongues swirled around one another. Toushiro ran his fingers up and down Ichigo's arms, squeezing his biceps, digging his nails into the taught muscle, while Ichigo threaded his fingers in his thick, white locks. He moaned softly as Toushiro brushed his hands down his back and started to play with the dimples at the base of his spine with his thumbs. Ichigo shuddered, wishing that Toushiro would go lower and then, seconds later, he did. Ichigo drew in a sharp breath as his husband palmed his buttocks and grinned into the kiss. He pulled back gently clamping his teeth on Ichigo's bottom lip then released it with a wet pop. Ichigo ran his tongue along Toushiro's jaw despite the bite of stubble then settled to suck his pulse.

"No marks," Toushiro warned breathlessly, but made no move to stop him. Instead he tugged at the bottom of Ichigo's shirt, pulling it up over his chest.

Ichigo stopped his sucking long enough to yank his shirt over his head and toss it somewhere behind him. Then as he re-attached himself to Toushiro's neck he got to work unbuttoning the too-big sleeping shirt he was wearing and loosening the draw-string at his hips. Toushiro lifted his hips to allow him to pull his pants down his thighs and groaned headily when he hooked an arm around his waist and lifted him up into his body for a moment before he pressed them both into the mattress. He squirmed around slightly then wrapped his legs around Ichigo's waist, rolling his hips ever so slightly. Ichigo moaned softly, reaching down to press his palm against Toushiro's backside then dragged it up his thigh. They met once more in a deep, sloppy kiss.

The room was too hot, even with the air conditioner on; the Californian sunlight that bled through the slits in the blinds heated up their bed to feel like fire. Yet, Toushiro's hands were cold as they travelled along Ichigo's body, pinching, squeezing, pressing. He pulled back slightly and took Toushiro's hands in his, rubbing them so they weren't cold to the touch. Toushiro huffed in annoyance and yanked his hands away to continue to explore his husband. He tugged Ichigo's sweatpants down his legs, making him jump when his knuckles brushed the back of his thighs. His entire body was like ice.

He pried Toushiro's arms from around him. "You're freezing, baby," he said in confusion.

Toushiro ignored him, pushing on his chest to change their position. He found himself on his back looking up at his husband whose cheeks were flushed scarlet and pupils blown wide as he straddled his hips. Ichigo normally would have been taken by the sight if it wasn't for how cold his skin was. Goose bumps rose wherever he touched. It felt like cold knives dragging across his skin when Toushiro ground his hips against him. And when he reached up to make him dismount, he noticed that his hands were shivering and his fingertips were blue.

"Sh-shiro," he stammered with chattering teeth, but Toushiro either didn't hear him or ignored him once more.

He lowered his head, breathing icy breath into Ichigo's face before joining their lips in a rough kiss. His lips were chapped and felt like frozen sand paper. Ichigo's eyes widened and he pushed his husband away from him. Toushiro snarled with a mouthful of rotting, black teeth. His milk-white skin was riddled with rot and stretched thin over gaunt cheek bones, his lips were grey-blue and cracked, and half his nose was missing, a black, bloody mass in the centre of his face. His head hung at a strange angle, as if his neck was broken, and patches of his hair were torn out, scalp bloody in some areas.

Ichigo's breath caught in his throat as he shoved the monster away from him and scrambled backwards. It fell off the bed with a soft thump and Ichigo felt panic crawl its way up his throat as well as his dinner from last night and bile. He pulled the sheets tightly around him as the monster scrabbled along the floor. He stared over the edge of the bed as a bony, bloody hand groped at the sheets. Its ring finger was missing and in its place was a rotting bone and blackened stump. Ichigo's heart stopped, he dared not to breathe and hugged his knees to his chest.

The room grew colder, frost settled on the headboard and sheets, and it no longer smelt like a Greek Seaside, but rather rotting eggs and decaying flesh. He covered his mouth and nose with his hand but his breath still condensed in front of his face and the monster slowly picked itself up off the floor. It swayed as it stood and looked at him with dim, glassy eyes. Ichigo yelled, he yelled as loud as he could, but there was no sound. In fact, it felt like something was covering his mouth and squeezing his neck.

His eyes flew open; he was back in the living room in the house in Wyoming. But it was too soon for relief; the monster was on top of him, holding his neck painfully tight. Cracked, frigid lips moved against his, and a sandpapery tongue wormed its way into his mouth. The breath was cold, and stale. It tasted of iron and something that had gone bad years ago. He gagged, hands flying to find purchase on anything, to free himself from the death grip. When he felt a hand make its way down his body to palm the front of his jeans and pull down the zipper, he began to thrash violently. The hand around his throat tightened, but he was too panicked to react appropriately. He kicked, twisted under the grip, and somehow managed to roll off the couch. He hit the floor with a crash, knocking into the coffee table and pushing it back a few inches. He felt his hip begin to throb and he had knocked his head against the side of the couch, but the only thing he noticed was that the thing, the monster, was gone. It had vanished like it hadn't been there seconds ago, almost as if Ichigo's eyes were playing tricks on him.

He lay on the floor panting; his skin still tingled where it had touched him and he wanted to vomit. His mouth tasted of old blood and rotten meat and he was cold beyond reason. He slowly got to his feet; his knees were shaking so badly that he was surprised that he could stand. The only thought on his mind was that he needed to get out of here. He had to leave the house. He made it to the front door and was about to run down the porch steps when he realised what he was doing. Clutching the rough wood of the railing, he hunched over the banister and tried to calm himself.

It was just a dream. He ran his hand down his face. It wasn't his first nightmare, so he shouldn't have been so shaken up. He managed to slow his breathing. It was a creepy, old house; he should have expected these kinds of ghost dreams. He had seen enough horror films and read more than his fair share of thrillers to act as fodder for his nightmares. Still, his spine tingled and goose bumps coated his skin. He swallowed thickly, the scent of rotting flesh still filled his nose, and the image of the monster, the depraved version of his husband, flashed in his mind. He drew in a sharp breath and chased the image from his head. Toushiro wasn't a monster. He wasn't...

Ichigo didn't blame Toushiro for Ken's death; the thought had never crossed his mind. He had been shocked when he learnt that Toushiro did blame himself anyway. But, then the events that followed; his tantrums, quitting his job, the depression, doctors, medication, and Ichigo had to admit that a part of him, the tiniest part ever, resented Toushiro for all of it.

He sighed deeply as he pushed the monster into the back of his mind. The image of his husband brightened to the smirking, teal-eyed man he remembered from a time not too long ago. He missed him. He missed his gentle teasing and sarcasm. He missed the way he would pretend to not like cuddling, but would hold him tight while he slept. He reminded himself firmly, all the time, that this was still Toushiro, this was the same mad he had known for all these years.

So, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. His finger hovered over the call button for a few seconds, Toushiro might be mad at him for calling while he was at work. Ichigo readied himself for a verbal beating as the call went through.

Toushiro didn't pick up until the fourth ring.

"Hey, what's the matter?" he answered, voice laced with concern.

"I...I..." he paused in slight shock. The real Toushiro was still there after all. "I... had another nightmare. I just needed to hear your voice."

There was a pause and Ichigo heard the clack of keyboard keys and a rustle of paper.

"Sorry, were you busy?"

"Not in particular, no. Are you okay now?"

"... Yeah."

"Ichigo."

"Kinda."

"...I'll see if I can come home early."

Ichigo's eyes widened; he hadn't expected Toushiro to offer that. He had honestly just wanted to talk for a bit and re-anchor himself in reality. He fumbled with his next sentence. "Y-you don't have to."

"Do you want me to?"

"I..."

"Then I will."

"Okay. Thanks, babe. Love you."

"Yeah... you too."

Ichigo smiled as he hung up.

* * *

**More ghost action, but things are starting to piece together.**

**-Mymomo**


	5. Death and a Dinner

"Hey," Ichigo called, trotting into the bedroom the next Thursday night.

Toushiro looked up from his phone, pushing his glasses up when they slipped down his nose. "What is it?"

"Renji and Rukia just invited us to dinner."

Toushiro raised an eyebrow. "I thought they didn't like me." He brought his knees up to his chest and hooked an arm around them.

Ichigo flopped backwards onto the bed. "Then why would they invite us over? Do you want to go?"

"I don't really have a choice; I messed up the first time..."

Ichigo rolled onto his stomach. "Don't think like that. You've had such a good week too."

Toushiro sighed. Maybe his medication was finally starting to work; he felt that he had a better handle on his emotions this past week at least. He had been able to control his outbursts, swallowing down scathing remarks, and forcing himself to stay calm even when he felt irritation and hopelessness start to bubble under his skin.

Ichigo reached out and took his hand in his, smoothing his thumb over his knuckles. "I'm proud of you, babe."

"I've done nothing to be proud of. It's just the medication."

Ichigo shook his head in response and brought Toushiro's hand to his lips. "Rukia said Saturday at around 6:30 if that's okay."

"Yeah, I'll make a dessert." He was surprised at his response. It had been somewhat automatic, but the last time he had baked anything was before Ken... He refrained from dragging a hand down his face as he thought of all the things he hadn't done. He used to enjoy baking before everything had crashed and burned, and took him with it. But this was good, he told himself, if he could maybe force himself into his old hobbies he could force himself to be better. God knows how much he wanted to be better; his life had been put on hold long enough, Ichigo had been waiting on him long enough. The least he could do was make a simple apple pie and stop being such a goddamned burden all the time.

He tried not to notice the way Ichigo's eyebrows rose in shock or how his face broke into a wide smile. "That would be amazing," he chuckled softly.

But Toushiro's stomach turned bitterly; Ichigo shouldn't have been so excited to hear him say that. He only noticed that he was clenching his hands when Ichigo hooked his fingers underneath his, stopping his nails from digging into his palms. He looked up with wide eyes and pulled his hands away from his husband. Ichigo refused to let go, instead drawing closer until he was near enough to place a gentle kiss on Toushiro's lips.

"You don't have to be nervous," Ichigo mumbled as he proceeded to press their foreheads together, "Renji and Rukia are really nice. They won't hold a grudge."

Toushiro nodded and closed his eyes. "That's not-"

"And if you feel uncomfortable we can leave."

Toushiro took a deep breath. That wasn't what he was worried about, though. But now he was thinking about it. He chewed his bottom lip, why did he have to make things so difficult all the time? If he had just reacted to Rukia's questions like a normal human being then he wouldn't be in this mess. Then Ichigo wouldn't have to be coddling him and worrying about when next he would explode. He always messed things up, he always had and –

Ichigo ran a thumb along his bottom lip, stopping him from biting it. When he opened his eyes warm brown and orange flooded his vision. Ichigo moved his hand from his mouth to cup his cheek.

"I'm proud of what you've done this week," he repeated softly, ghosting his thumb along Toushiro's cheek bone, "But I know this dinner will be a big step. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't think you could handle it."

Toushiro swallowed. "I'll try, but-"

"No buts, Shiro. Trying is good enough for me."

He did not deserve Ichigo, not one bit. How much patience did this man have? Any sane person would have packed their bags and left. But as Ichigo wrapped his arms around his shoulders and pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, he felt a warm spark, a tiny little thing, ignite in his chest. He was happy that Ichigo hadn't left him. So, with some slight hesitation, because he still did not deserve to be treated so nicely, he turned his head allowing their lips to brush against one another. Ichigo nearly pulled back in shock, but a split second later he tightened his embrace pressed their lips together more firmly. Toushiro's eyes fluttered shut again as the warm spark and the cold bitterness fought inside his chest. He wanted to deepen their kiss, he wanted to run his hands through Ichigo's silky hair, and squeeze his obscenely toned biceps, but he couldn't. He couldn't because he didn't deserve it.

...

Saturday morning came quickly and Toushiro grumbled in frustration as he tiptoed to reach the cookbook on the shelf on top of the microwave. They hadn't bought a stepping-stool just yet and it was too early for him to be climbing on the countertops. He huffed and tried jumping; his fingers just brushed the edge of the spine, but he wasn't able to grab it. He stood back, folding his arms across his chest and glared at the shelf. Why did shelves always have to be so high up? He was about to call for his husband's help when movement near the kitchen door caught his eye. Frowning, he slowly turned around, thinking that maybe Ichigo was done with his workout early. But, no one was there. Only air blasted from the vent in the floor, causing the drapes that covered the glass door to flutter.

He sighed again and pulled his housecoat tightly around his shoulders, just now noticing how chilly the room was. The moment he turned away something moved again and he saw a dark shadow flicker across the floor. He blinked a few times then removed his glasses to rub the inside corners of his eyes. It had to be another hallucination, he thought wearily. They had been getting worse the past week, even though his mood had been improving. He could count how many times he had seen a blurry figure at the edge of his vision, or a dark shadow hovering at the edge of his bed. They hadn't been as bad as that one time where he had wondered into the back room, but they were still unnerving. He briefly wondered if he should bring this up with a doctor. Generally speaking, hallucinations were not to be taken lightly. Maybe-

"Hey, what's wrong?"

Toushiro lifted his head to see Ichigo trotting into the kitchen soaked in sweat with a towel around his neck. He shook his head, slipping his glasses back on and watched as the redhead deposited his water bottle in the sink and picked up a banana from the fruit basket.

"Could you get the cookbook for me?" he asked, pointing to the shelf.

Ichigo handed him the book and leaned over the island, watching as he flipped through the pages.

"What are you gonna make?"

"I was thinking a pie or something..."

"Sounds nice. You should make the crust with oats and flax seed."

Toushiro grimaced. "You're disgusting. Go shower."

Ichigo chuckled, but complied. Not before placing a sweaty kiss on Toushiro's temple, however.

...

The entire house smelt of apple pie by the time Toushiro took his dessert out of the oven. He heard Ichigo call from the living room, saying that he wanted a piece, as he set the pie on a wire rack on the island to cool. Shaking his head, with what felt like a tiny smile on his face, he turned to the sink to wash the dishes.

He let the cool water run over his hands for a bit before he picked up the sponge and mixing bowl. He supposed that he should take up baking again, it had felt calming. And even with his hands trembling like they did he was still able to craft an appealing dessert. It had taken him longer than normal to thread the lattice crust straight and it had been difficult to slice the apples, but somehow it had calmed his mind. He wasn't thinking about the dinner or the agitation that was sure to come with it. Maybe this was the push that he had needed after all.

He reached for the soap bottle to squeeze a little more soap onto his sponge, and when the water from the faucet ran over his hands he nearly winced at how cold it was. His fingertips went numb instantly and he quickly turned the warm water handle. He waited for the stream to warm up a bit before attempting to wash anything else, but he couldn't get the numbness out of his fingers and the longer he spent under the water the further the cold spread up his arms. Eventually, he gave up and turned off the tap blowing on his hands, after drying them, in effort to warm himself up. Something was really wrong with their water heater, Toushiro noted with a frown as the thought back to last week when the shower had gone cold without explanation. They'd have to call a plumber... or electrician... or whoever, Ichigo was sure to know what to do.

He sighed softly as another shadow ghosted at the edge of his vision then shook out the towel and placed it back on the rack. He ignored it; the hallucinations were not real no matter how convincing they seemed. He shut his eyes, lowered his head, and took a few moments to just breathe.

Just as he managed to calm his racing thoughts, however, he was pushed back against the island with such force that he was sure that his back was bruised. He barely had time to see what had pushed him when there was a deafening crash and the sound of glass shattering. His eyes widened in horror as pieces of a pie dish flew across the kitchen floor and gooey apple juice splattered onto his socks.

"Toushiro," Ichigo shouted from the living room, "what was that?"

He felt his throat close up and he swallowed dryly while his stomach turned and he began to feel dizzy.

_No..._

He braced himself against the island and stared at the tiles. Ichigo evidently didn't like his silence because he came running into the kitchen with a panicked frown on his face. He jolted to a halt at the entrance when he saw the pie on the floor and the broken dish. Toushiro watched him silently; his chest constricted painfully and what felt like a knife drove itself into his stomach.

Ichigo narrowed his eyes as he raised his head towards Toushiro. "What happened?"

"I don't know," he muttered, looking away. The accusation in Ichigo's eyes spoke volumes and he clenched his jaw as an angry heat made its way up his chest and neck.

"Toushiro..."

"I don't know... I don't know. I didn't throw it down. It wasn't me." He wanted to shout, but he kept his voice even.

Ichigo sighed loudly. "It's okay."

Toushiro swallowed and slowly bent down to pick up some of the larger shards close to his feet. His hands were shaking pretty badly and his throat clamped shut. He clenched his jaw, willing tiny, hot tears not to fall. But his vision still blurred and a hot pressure built in his head.

"Leave it," Ichigo said, stooping down next to him and placing his hands on top of his.

"I didn't do it," Toushiro repeated, shoving Ichigo's hands away.

Ichigo breathed deeply through his nose. "Okay, I believe you."

Toushiro knew he didn't.

...

They bought a cake from the bakery down town, a dainty chocolate thing that was garnished with strawberries and crushed almonds. Toushiro had to try very hard to not throw it from the car window as they drove to the Abarais' house. Ichigo noticed his tension and, if he was mad, he hid it well because he reached over the gear shift and placed his palm on Toushiro's thigh.

"It's going to be alright, babe," he said, "We can always leave early if you're not feeling well."

Toushiro took a calming breath and considered placing his hand over his husband's, but instead leaned away from him and propped his elbow up on the car door.

"I'll be fine. You don't have to speak to me like I'm a scared animal."

Ichigo flinched and withdrew his hand. "Sorry, just making sure."

...

Renji answered the door with a grin and a half empty beer. "Hey, welcome to our humble abode," he chuckled, standing to the side and letting them in, "Rukia is in the kitchen finishing up some stuff."

The house was anything but humble; it was bigger than Toushiro and Ichigo's with an open floor plan, modern white furnishings, and high ceilings. Toushiro and his store-bought cake felt out of place instantly.

Ichigo whistled. "And you made me buy that round at the bar the other night."

Renji smirked. "You offered."

"That's the last time I will."

Renji clapped him on the shoulder. "Come in, sit down anywhere's fine. Can I get you anything while we wait? Beer, wine? Oh here, I'll take that, Toushiro."

Toushiro handed him the cake as Ichigo took him up on the beer.

"What about you, Toushiro? Beer as well?"

He swallowed. "Uh, no. I'll wait."

As Renji disappeared into the kitchen Ichigo gave him an encouraging smile and guided him over to one of the square couches. "You okay?"

"Fine."

They sat in silence; Toushiro picked at the grain of his jeans. Ichigo looked like he was going to start a conversation several times, but decided not to at the last minute. Honestly, Toushiro thought, what could he say after he had been shut down earlier?

Renji padded back in with Ichigo's beer after a few minutes. "We'll be eating on the deck, if that's alright."

"Of course you have a deck. Swimming pool too, I bet." Ichigo teased.

"And Jacuzzi."

"Bastard."

Renji led them out to a pristinely varnished terrace. The water in the negative edge pool rippled slightly with the late summer breeze. He gestured for them to sit down at a rather large table covered with food and set with matching table mats, napkins, dishes, and even an extravagant floral centre piece. Toushiro blinked and was suddenly frozen at the end of the table. He certainly didn't belong in this kind of place. His back itched as he became hyperaware of the thin cotton of his shirt.

"There was no need to go all out for just us." Ichigo said sitting down as if he had been here countless times before. "I mean you guys saw what a mess our house was..."

Renji shrugged. "There's no stopping Rukia when she has an idea."

"There's no stopping me from what?" Rukia emerged from inside with a dish of roasted vegetables.

Ichigo indicated the table. "This is way too much Rukia, if we knew that you were planning all this we would have brought more than a cake."

She grinned. "No, I needed the excuse to cook; I've been too lazy for a while now."

Toushiro swallowed at her words and found himself clenching his jaw. He was supposed to have-

"Hey, Toushiro, come sit," Renji called over to him.

He felt his cheeks heat as he slipped into the chair next to Ichigo and stared at his lap. There was a brief moment of terribly awkward silence.

"Wine anyone?" Rukia asked, "Well, you two already have beer, but there's a bottle of sauvignon that 's been calling my name all week."

Ichigo chuckled as Renji rolled his eyes. "Start us off then."

Toushiro felt like he was watching all of this from a distance. The three of them were talking so easily and he had to be asked to sit down. He didn't belong here, these were Ichigo's friends; he was only there because it was polite of them to ask. He swallowed once again, but his throat had gone dry and he felt like he was sinking into his chair. All he could hear was the rush of blood in his head. He couldn't even move when Rukia went to fill his glass with wine; Ichigo had to lean over and stop her with a hand over the rim.

He eyed Toushiro wearily as he said, "No alcohol for him."

Both Renji's and Rukia's eyebrows shot upwards and Toushiro's already heated face got hotter.

"He's... uh... he's on medication," Ichigo supplied before Toushiro could say anything.

"Can I ask what for?" Renji asked.

Rukia shot him a sharp glance and looked like she was about to lunge to punch him for a second. She settled for gripping the wine bottle a bit tighter, but she looked uneasily from Ichigo to Toushiro. Ichigo, in turn, looked to Toushiro and opened his mouth to reply.

"Depression," he muttered before Ichigo could say anything else. He would prefer to say it himself rather than have his husband blurt it out.

The Abarais looked mildly surprise but neither commented further. Ichigo grasped his hand under the table and gently squeezed it.

"But he's been doing really well lately and-"

Toushiro pushed his chair back with a loud, grating drag and yanked his hand away. "Can I use your bathroom?"

...

"So, how's the new house?" Renji asked through a sip of wine. "Any ghosts?"

The sun had long set and dinner was eaten. The four of them were now lounging around the table, watching as the patio lights flickered on, illuminating the blue-green pool water and casting a golden glow across the table. Everything had gone well after Toushiro had returned from the bathroom. He could tell that Renji and Rukia were being extremely cautious around him, but he didn't care to know what Ichigo had told them. So, he had tried, as best as he could, to keep the conversations going. Then Renji had to go and ask that question.

Toushiro turned to him with a frown as Ichigo blubbered for a few seconds. "Wh-what do you mean?"

Renji snickered. "Calm down you two. You don't actually believe in that stuff right?"

Ichigo laughed, but Toushiro could tell that it was fake since the lines around his mouth didn't completely form. "Of course not. What ghosts are you talking about?"

Toushiro's frown deepened and he narrowed his eyes slightly. What was Ichigo lying about this time?

"You guys don't know about the stories behind that house?" Renji chortled.

"What stories?" Toushiro snapped.

Rukia's exasperated glare to her husband went ignored, but she gently folded her arms across the table."Some silly ghost story that the town's children like to tell."

He cocked his head. "What do they say about it?"

She chewed on the edge of her very pink thumbnail, obviously thinking of a way to answer. "People just think it's creepy because it doesn't have such a great history."

"What do you mean by that?"

Renji raised an eyebrow. "You mean the realtor did tell you guys? The last owners died in there, and I'm sure so did the ones before them... I can't believe you didn't know; usually that information has to be disclosed-"

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck and chuckled dryly. Toushiro rounded on him. "You knew about this, Ichigo?"

"I... Uh... Kinda," he muttered and took a deep drink from his glass.

Toushiro was silent as he stared at his husband in disbelief. A small fire ignited in his stomach, smoke filled his chest, and he wanted to scream and possibly wring Ichigo's neck.

Renji swore and squirmed uncomfortably. "Shit... I didn't mean to start anything between you. I just thought-"

"Renji, shut up," Rukia growled softly and he closed his mouth and sat back like a scolded child.

Toushiro sighed; now wasn't the time to confront Ichigo. Everyone was having a good time; he wouldn't blow up now and ruin it.

"It gives the house character," Ichigo tried to explain.

Toushiro almost leapt from his place. "Character-"

Rukia suddenly pushed her chair back from the table. "Uh, Toushiro, would you help me with dessert?" she asked sweetly.

Toushiro huffed, realising what she was trying to do, and nodded.

"I'm so sorry for Renji," she sighed as they entered the kitchen, "He never thinks before he says anything. I've tried beating it out of him, but nothing, _nothing_, I've done helps."

Toushiro shook his head. "It's fine; don't worry about it."

She turned to open the fridge and pulled out a trifle. The store bought cake seemed even more out of place and Toushiro chewed his bottom lip.

She placed the crystal dish on the counter behind her and turned back around for a fruit tart. "But you and Ichigo-"

"We're fine. It was going to come up sooner or later; I knew he was keeping something about the house from me." He stood awkwardly as she cut the tart into slices. "Uh, can I get the plates or anything?"

She pointed to a cupboard.

"If anything," Toushiro took a deep breath as he picked up a stack of delicate, porcelain dessert plates, "I should apologise for the way I acted when we first met."

Rukia blinked and busied herself in digging in a drawer for cutlery. "No, it's okay. We didn't know... about-"

"Still, I did not act appropriately and I apologise for making things really uncomfortable."

Rukia smiled, and the tension she had been holding in her shoulders dissipated. "And those ghost stories, you really don't have to pay attention to them. Renji was being an idiot as usual. Makes me wonder why I married him sometimes."

Toushiro took the heavy trifle dish before she could pick it up from the counter. She narrowed her eyes playfully at him.

"You've been married long then?" he asked, ignoring her expression.

She chuckled, "Long enough. We have teenaged twins in boarding school, if that counts for anything."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Mizuna and Risa, they're in Connecticut, juniors now."

Toushiro nodded. "You must be very proud. Though, for everyone's sake I hope they took after you rather than your husband in terms of tact."

Rukia winced and picked up the plates and cutlery as they headed back outside. "He rubs everyone the wrong way when they first meet."

"He and Ichigo seem to be getting along _marvellously_."

She tilted her head.

"Though, Ichigo is a bit of a weird one."

It took them three trips to get all of the desserts to the table and when Toushiro sat back down Ichigo sent him an apologetic smile and tried to grab his hand. Toushiro discreetly shoved him away and narrowed his eyes at his smile. Ichigo turned glumly to his small piece of fruit tart.

...

"Were you ever going to tell me?" Toushiro asked as Ichigo opened the front door to their house.

Ichigo sighed. "When you were ready."

"Ready? I think I should have had some say in whether I wanted to live in a house where people died or not," he hissed as he pushed his way past Ichigo and stomped up the stairs.

Ichigo made a loud annoyed noise at the bath of his throat and noisily followed. "We didn't have much of a choice. We needed a house and we needed one right away. This was one of few offers we could afford on such short notice. I didn't tell you because I knew how you would have reacted and we didn't have time to waste."

"You could have at least included me in the search." Toushiro threw open their bedroom door.

"Why? So you could have freaked out about it sooner?"

Toushiro spun around and glared at his husband. "It doesn't bother me that this house has a bed rep; it bothers me that you hid it from me, that you still think that you have to coddle and protect me from who-knows-what, Ichigo. You said I've been getting better and yet you still treat me like I'm mentally imbalanced."

Ichigo rolled his eyes. "You're getting better, but you aren't yet! What happened in the kitchen this morning, huh? Did you have another tantrum?"

"That wasn't me!" Toushiro yelled, stomping to the other side of the bed.

"Then who did it? This is precisely why I couldn't tell you! We wouldn't have got the house and you would have missed your deadline at the school. And then you would have been jobless _again_!"

Toushiro stepped back and took a deep, shaky breath. "You're right. _All of this is my fault_. And as always you're the hero who swoops in and fixes everything-"

"That's not true!" Ichigo threw his hands up.

Toushiro sneered before turning to go to the bathroom. He heard Ichigo growl as he slammed the door shut. Good week, his ass. He roughly unbuttoned his shirt and kicked off his shoes. His hands were shaking and he leaned against the edge of the counter. So what if he had depression, so what if he was on medication. That didn't mean he was any less of a person, right? Since the moment he had been diagnosed Ichigo had been treating him like he was made of glass, like any mistake would set him off and he would shatter into a million and one pieces. He had tried to explain, tried to stand up for himself, kept on pushing Ichigo away, but... he took a rattling breath and braced his forearms on the counter.

What was he doing? He was proving Ichigo right, proving that he couldn't handle himself, that's what. He did have a right to be mad, however, but maybe that had been an overreaction. Normal people talked out their problems; they didn't explode at every little thing. Ichigo had sat patiently through all his troubles; he didn't deserve all this backlash and yelling. Toushiro sighed; he really couldn't do anything right, even with all this fucking medication, he couldn't get himself together. He was a complete fuck-up, a failure. He screwed his eyes shut and his stomach churned and cramped. He shouldn't have eaten all of that food at the Abarais; he needed to vomit. He gagged and the room swayed beneath his feet; the fuzzy bathmat threatened to throw him over.

There was a knock on the door.

"It isn't locked," he called out, swallowing against the nausea.

The door creaked open and Ichigo stuck his head through the crack. "Need to pee," he muttered.

Toushiro jerked his head to the toilet. "Go ahead."

Ichigo stepped into the bathroom uneasily. "You okay?"

"Yeah, just about to take my meds."

Ichigo paused behind him. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hid something so big from you."

Toushiro turned around. "You shouldn't have, however... you're right; I'm not better and I'm not sure if I ever will be."

He reached out to him. "Shiro-"

"But you _need_ to stop coddling me."

"... Okay." He drew back.

Toushiro left Ichigo in the bathroom after taking his medicine and removing his contacts. He was about to get into bed, but something didn't feel right. The room felt too cold and tense. A heavy cloud shrouded his shoulders and he knew that if he didn't talk to Ichigo now, he would be plagued with ill feelings and bad dreams throughout the rest of the night. He grumbled as he got back up and shuffled back to the bathroom. He paused at the doorway, bracing his left hand on the frame and squinted into the room as Ichigo rinsed his face off in the sink. Cool breeze blew against his back and he wrapped an arm around his stomach as goose-bumps prickled the back of his neck.

"I apologised to the Abarais for shouting at them when we first met," he started softly.

Ichigo hummed, "You did?"

"Yeah, and I probably should tell you sorry-"

"You don't have to."

Toushiro swallowed thickly as Ichigo turned to face him. "I should-"

"Shiro," Ichigo said sharply and softly. He was still staring in Toushiro's direction but his posture was rigid, panicked even. "Shiro, get in here. _Now_."

"Why, what's wrong?"

"Behind-"

The door slammed shut on Toushiro's hand. He yelled in pain and tried to pull it from the crack, while simultaneously turning the knob and pushing. He heard Ichigo swear from behind the thick layer of oak.

"Shit, it won't open!"

"Unlock it!" Toushiro yelled back.

"It's not locked!"

He let his breath out through his teeth and tried to push the crushing pain in his hand to the back of his mind. But he couldn't, each of his fingers felt like they were broken and a small stream of blood wrapped around his wrist and dripped down the frame.

"Ichigo, my hand!"

"I know; I'm trying! It's jammed or something!"

The knob jiggled a few times and Toushiro felt the door move a millimetre before slamming back shut completely. He gasped sharply, tiny tears springing to his eyes. His fingers were surely broken, his knuckles shattered, and he would be lucky if he could use his hand after this. He pushed against the door with his shoulder and it took a second for him to register that something, someone, was stroking his hair. His eyes widened and it took two beats before his voice made it past his lips and he screamed. He kicked back, aiming for shins, knees, or ankles, but his foot met nothing apart from cold air. No one was behind him, yet he still felt the stroking.

"Shiro!" Ichigo yelled, "Stay calm, the door is moving!"

"No, there's something in here with me!" he shouted in panic.

Ichigo swore louder. The stroking turned harsh. Freezing fingers dug into his scalp and pulled his hair. He tried to turn his head, but the hand just held tighter. His neck strained as his head was yanked backwards and another hand caressed his throat. The touch was like ice and rough like gravel.

"What?" Ichigo shouted.

"I don't know! There's something... Ichigo help! Hurry, help!"

The knob rattled with new vigour and Toushrio pushed against the door even harder. A jagged nail traced his adam's apple then dug into the skin at his jaw. He blubbered loudly, his entire body shook.

"Ichigo!"

The hands seemed to halt for a split second before disappearing completely. Toushiro was left trembling for a moment before Ichigo yanked the door open and he went tumbling into the bathroom. Ichigo caught him before he could fall over and wrapped his arms tightly around his shoulders. Toushiro braced himself against his husband's chest and listened to his racing heartbeat. Ichigo was also shaking and every muscle in his torso was tense. Toushiro shut his eyes and took a few shaky breaths. Ichigo cradled the back of his head and curled around him.

"Babe?" Ichigo asked softly, "Are you okay?"

Toushiro nodded. "What was that? You saw it... behind me."

He heard Ichigo draw in a sharp breath as he rubbed his back in comfort. "I'm not sure, I only got a glimpse. It didn't look..." he cut himself off. "It's gone, though, we're safe."

"It didn't look what?"

Ichigo hesitated. "It didn't look human."

They were both silent for a while. Renji's ghost story echoed through Toushiro's head and he thought back to all the times when he had seen a dark shadow at the edge of his vision. His skin itched and the urge to vomit grew very strong. He wiggled out of Ichigo's grasp and stood over the toilet.

"Shiro, your hand," Ichigo murmured.

Toushiro glanced down, wincing at the swollen mass of pinks and reds that had once resembled a human hand. Ichigo pulled out a first aid kit from under the sink and sunk to his knees to examine it.

"Can you move your fingers?"

He could; they weren't broken, thankfully. But he still hissed as Ichigo cleaned out the wound and wrapped a length of gauze around it. He didn't protest when Ichigo carried him to bed, but sat unmoving with the blankets pulled up to his chin when he went downstairs to grab an ice-pack. He held his breath until Ichigo returned.

"I don't like this house," he mumbled softly as Ichigo snuggled under the blankets and pulled him into a tight hug.

Ichigo kissed the side of his neck. "Let's get some sleep, and talk about it in the morning."

Toushiro didn't argue.

* * *

**Sorry for such a long wait... No excuse life and other projects got in the way. **

**So, the boys are aware of the ghost now, but there's still a long way to go. ****A few of you came up with some interesting theories about the ghost belonging to Ken. And I just want to say that it's not, if the sexual advances it made on Ichigo and Toushiro didn't make it clear then I wanna say so. ****Hopefully this chapter cleared up where exactly the ghost came from. **

**I'd be eternally grateful if you left a review on your way out. **

**-Mymomomo**


	6. Strength and Weakness

**Soooo, Weekly updates, I guess. I'll aim for Thursdays from now on. **

**First off, a super huge shoutout goes to Kuroneko Hikage, who helped me through a few spots and convinced me - without any real argument actually - to put a sex scene much earlier than I had planned. **

**But wait, didn't I say this wasn't going to be explicit? Yes, but things happen. **

**I'll be posting the explicit version to my tumblr (Link is in my profile) just in case anyone isn't into that, or just wants to read the clean-ish version. **

* * *

Toushiro leaned against his husband's shoulder as they sat on the steps of their back porch. The world was still grey around them, only the first rays of sunlight poked above the tallest pine trees and the night insects still chirped. They had both given up on sleeping. Toushiro had been too jumpy to rest, panicking every time a shadow flickered. He was drowsy, but even his medication couldn't shake his unease. It seemed the same was for Ichigo. When the bathroom door had creaked particularly loudly, he sat up, looking around with narrowed eyes, and then announced that he couldn't sleep. They ended up on the back porch, neither wanting to stay inside the house, and watched as the sun rose as they shared a large cup of unsweetened coffee.

Ichigo rested his cheek against the top of Toushiro's head after lightly kissing him on the forehead. "How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

"Tired," Toushiro yawned, unconsciously nuzzling against Ichigo's cheek.

Ichigo hummed in agreement then was silent for a while, watching as a flock of birds burst upwards from the trees. He took a loud sip from the coffee mug and settled his free arm around Toushiro's waist. "About last night... I'm not quite sure what happened. I mean, I thought I saw something, but now that I think back... it could have just been a shadow, right? I was tired and maybe a little buzzed from all the wine."

"Maybe..."

"What else would it have been? A _ghost_?"

Toushiro sighed. Then the hands pulling his hair must have been another hallucination. He shivered at the memory. God, they had felt so real. He had actually felt the cracked nails and the cold, dry skin against his neck. He really should find a doctor. What if he hallucinated at work, or worse, while driving? He felt panic start to rise in his stomach, bubbling and turning the acidic coffee more potent until it started to burn. Or what if they got to a point where he couldn't tell what was real or not-

"What'cha thinking about?"

He shook his head and swallowed. "Nothing. You're probably right; we were just spooked from Renji's stories. Ghosts aren't real."

"Right. I'll WD-40 the doors so they don't jam again, but it is an old house; we should learn to expect these kinds of weird things. "

"Yeah..."

Ichigo tightened the arm around Toushiro's waist, pulling him closer. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Shiro."

"I'm serious; it's nothing."

Ichigo sighed softly. "Okay." They fell into silence again. But it wasn't an uncomfortable silence like what they had grown used to. Ichigo tapped his fingertips against the subtle curve of Toushiro's waist and took another sip of coffee. "I kinda missed this, you know."

"Hmm?"

"Just sitting like this... with you."

Toushiro chewed the inside of his cheek. It had been a while since he and Ichigo had done anything like this. Things had just been so terrible that romance of any sort had been the furthest thing from his mind. He looked up at his husband guiltily. Once again, Ichigo did not deserve what he had put him through, and yet, he still somehow managed to smile at him like he loved him. Toushiro reached for the hand Ichigo had on his waist and entwined their fingers.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"You have nothing to be sorry for-"

Toushiro sighed heavily. "We both know that's a lie. I know it hasn't been easy for you, with me the way I am, but you didn't leave. I don't deserve you-"

Ichigo cut him off with a strange noise at the back of his throat. "None of that," he grumbled, "You do deserve me; you deserve much better than me."

Toushiro shook his head. "I really don't." He heard a soft clunk as Ichigo set the coffee mug down on the step beside him. Then his fingers were under Toushiro's chin, tilting his face upwards. Toushiro swallowed thickly once his eyes met Ichigo's. They were so warm, so brown, and so _tender_ that his guilt was momentarily forgotten. He still loved him; Ichigo loved him. He breathed out deeply, feeling, for the first time in months, that he was absolved of every single one of his transgressions. This man, this man that he had married...

He stretched upwards, not thinking anymore, searching for Ichigo's lips. The hand on his chin guided him and the kiss was soft at first and a bit tentative, as if Ichigo expected him to pull away at any moment. But when Toushiro shifted and wrapped his arm around Ichigo's neck, he understood. Ichigo pulled him onto his lap while deepening the kiss. Toushiro's knees scraped against the rough wood, but he didn't care, his husband's arms were all over him, touching everything at once. He sighed into the kiss and threading the fingers of his un-bandaged hand through Ichigo's hair. Ichigo spread his fingers across his back, pulling him against his chest, all the while fervidly attacking his mouth. Toushiro's glasses were knocked askew; he took them off and placed them next to the coffee cup, but was more interested in the way Ichigo's mouth was moving against his. His tongue prodded his bottom lip, and Toushiro almost groaned as Ichigo thrust it into his mouth. God, it really had been too long. He lowered his arms to run his nails along Ichigo's shoulders, almost melting as he felt his thick muscles tense underneath his old t-shirt. His hands didn't even halfway encircle Ichigo's biceps as he grasped at his arms. A delightful shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the times that Ichigo had pinned him to the bed or effortlessly picked him up and held him against a wall during an especially heated round of sex.

Toushiro licked his lips, finding them slightly tender, when they broke apart. Ichigo was breathing heavily through his nose as he stared up at Toushiro for a second before he brought a hand up to press the spot in between his shoulder blades and rested his forehead to the side of his neck. Toushiro's eyes fluttered shut when he felt a hot tongue lap at his collarbone. He pressed his fingers into Ichigo's arms, despite the sting from his left hand, and threw his head back as Ichigo travelled from his collarbone to his jaw and settled on sucking his pulse. Toushiro gasped softly, a tight coil wound itself in his stomach. He needed...

"Ichigo," he murmured.

Ichigo hummed against his neck. "Yes, baby?"

He swallowed. "Let's... I want..."

Ichigo stopped moving and slowly glanced up, looking like a puppy who was about to be given a treat. "Really?"

Toushiro chuckled softly and leaned in to peck Ichigo on the lips. It ended up being more than just a peck as Ichigo opened his mouth to accept him.

...

Toushiro was deliciously sore at work on Monday. He felt his face heat slightly as he rubbed his lower back and settled into his chair. Yesterday had been incredible; he and Ichigo hadn't been intimate in so long that he ached because of it, but he couldn't say that he didn't like feeling the remnants of their love making. For most of the day there had been a light, warm tingle in his stomach, even as he worked through boring, almost menial tasks.

There was a stack of papers that he had to read through and a few students had decided to change classes at the last minute, so he had to approve their new schedules and enter them into the system. Some of the tasks that he had been assigned had him feeling more like a secretary than an assistant principal. But Gabriel Heathers High was much smaller than the school he worked at in San Francisco. He shouldn't have been complaining; he was lucky to have gotten the job at such short notice.

He yawned, stretched his neck, and turned to his computer. Switching around schedules only took a few minutes at, but halfway through he remembered that he was supposed to set up his email account. The school had an elaborate network and mailing system, but there had been a spelling error in his name and while that was being fixed – a surprisingly harder task than he would have thought – he wanted to use his private account to access school emails. He didn't mind; he already had a few email accounts that were just sitting there. He just needed to clear out the inbox and link them up and everything should be running fine. He scanned through some of the old emails, wondering why there were so many that he didn't remember. He huffed, might as well start cleaning it up. He clicked on one from Pinewood Medical Centre, frowning because that was not the clinic he had gone to for his depression. He knew the place though; his doctor had mentioned it a few times when they were talking about possibly seeking psychiatric help. He hadn't followed up on it, though, so what was this doing in his inbox.

The message was addressed to Ichigo, and Toushiro remembered that his husband had access to this particular account. But when he realised that it was an invoice for a therapy session, he felt like he had been hit over the head with a shovel.

Toushiro's stomach sank; Ichigo had been seeing a therapist for what seemed like an extensive period of time. There were multiple emails from Pinewood, and when he looked at the dates his stomach churned and he dragged his hand down his face. This was his fault. He had completely broken down; shut everything out including his own husband. He had been foolish to think that Ichigo was that strong and hadn't needed help after the accident. He breathed in deeply and ran a hand through his hair. How could he have been so selfish as to have not have realised this?

But, why hadn't he told him? If he had known that his husband had sought counselling maybe they could have depended on each other instead. It was strange, but a little part of him felt betrayed. Ichigo usually never kept secrets from him, well, with the exception of their home's history. Had he really turned into someone so unreliable that his own husband didn't feel comfortable in telling him that he was seeing a therapist? Did Ichigo think he couldn't handle it? Annoyance crawled under his skin and he took a few deep, shaky breaths. Again with all this codling; he was depressed not clinically insane. Why didn't Ichigo say something, if not right off the bat, but when they had finally found a medication that worked, or even when he promised that they were both going to try to get past it?

He clenched his good hand around the edge of his desk and narrowed his eyes. Why was he trying to delude himself that Ichigo was perfect? He had promised that he was going to be strong for Toushiro, he had hid this particular side from him. And Toushiro had wanted very badly to believe him. He had wanted him to be his rock, his concrete pillar. But that was hardly true. He clenched his jaw as a memory which he had tried hard to bury surfaced. It had hurt just as much as when he found out that Ken didn't make it.

He tried not to dwell on it, but he had seen when Ichigo had packed a suitcase one afternoon, cleared the closet and bathroom of most of his stuff and threw it all into his car. Ichigo didn't know that he had been watching as he sat behind the wheel for almost an hour with his head in his hands. He didn't end up leaving, and that's what Toushiro repeated over and over to console himself, but the fact that he had considered it weighed heavily at the back of his mind. He had pushed his husband that far and Ichigo didn't trust him anymore; a part of him didn't even want to be with him.

Why would it be any different now? Next to nothing had changed, after all.

He swallowed, noticing that he was clutching the edge of his desk tight enough that his knuckles had gone white. He breathed deeply, shaking out his hand, and trying to fight down the anger that had bloomed in his chest. He took a few more moments to collect himself then got up to go to the bathroom. He would think about this more when he calmed down.

However, when he got back there were two students sitting on the bench outside his office door. He sighed softly, recognising the look of guilt and shame on their faces. It was only a matter of time before the first set of misbehavers was sent his way. He quickly steeled his face and straightened his back.

"Who sent you here?" he asked, leading them into his office.

"Ms. Abbing," one of them mumbled.

"For what reason?"

They both grudgingly held out yellow detention slips.

"Skipping class? It's the second week of school, you two," he said, shaking his head.

...

A silver truck was parked in the driveway when Toushiro got home that evening. He chewed the inside of his cheek and tapped his fingers against the staring wheel; he wasn't in the mood for company. But it wasn't as if he could just drive back to work, so he would have to face it; swallow his anger and try to act like a normal human being. He gathered his brief case and jacket from the passenger seat and reluctantly made his way into the house. The minute he stepped through the front door someone launched themselves at him and he was wrapped in a tight hug, his feet almost lifting from the ground.

"Toushiro, son, I've missed you so much."

He sighed as he recognised his father-in-law and awkwardly patted his shoulder. "Hi, Isshin," he muttered, "how was the drive?"

Isshin pulled back and grinned merrily, leading Toushiro into the living room. "It was really fun. We stopped at all these sites, oh I have the pictures; I'll show you!"

Toushiro shook his head as Isshin scrambled for his phone, remembering that he left it in his bag upstairs. Ichigo chuckled from his spot on the couch with his sister, Yuzu, and her husband, Jinta.

"Sorry," Ichigo said holding his arms out in an invitation for a hug, "He heard you pull in. He's like a puppy."

Toushiro nodded, ignoring Ichigo's arms and perching himself on the armrest of the loveseat, where Karin, Ichigo's other sister, was lounging. He saw the not-so-discreet look Yuzu shot her brother and irritation prickled his skin.

"Hey," Karin said, elbowing his back, "How's it going?"

"It's going well," he replied curtly.

Yuzu tilted her head. "How's the new job? Vice Principal, right?"

He nodded. "It's good. Much different from my old one, but I'm glad to be back at work."

Karin snorted, "I still don't understand how they don't mistake you for a student."

He shot her a withering look from over his shoulder.

"But was it worth it?" Jinta grumbled, "Moving to this shanty town?"

"Oh stop it," Yuzu sighed gently slapping him on his knee, "Rayle's cute. You're just bitter that you lost your soccer buddy."

"The whole team is bitter, right Karin?"

She shook her head. "Bitter? We got slaughtered in our last match. We need our best striker like... like whales need water."

"The hell kind of metaphor was that?" Ichigo chuckled.

"Well it's true."

Toushiro looked at his hands and picked at the edge of the gauze. Another set of people he had disappointed; the list kept on getting longer. Karin elbowed him again. "Hey, don't be so glum, it's just the community soccer league. No one's gonna take it personally that you had to leave. Just puts a little extra stress on me; I can't carry the whole team."

Jinta rolled his eyes. "Oh get off it, Kurosaki."

Karin stuck out her tongue and Toushiro continued to pick at his bandage.

"What happened to your hand?" Yuzu asked.

Toushiro jumped slightly and hid it between his thighs. "Oh, uh, I just got it caught in a door, no big deal."

"Yeah," Ichigo chimed in, "the doors get jammed sometimes, so if you get stuck just yell."

"How much did you pay for this house again?" Karin deadpanned.

Isshin then bumbled back into the living room scratching his head. "Yuzu, something's wrong with my phone. I can't see the pictures."

Yuzu sighed and held out her hand. "What did you do this time, dad?"

Isshin squeezed himself in between Ichigo and Yuzu and the small family began bantering as Jinta was unceremoniously pushed into the armrest. Toushiro watched everything like he was miles away. They were all so distant, so happy. The chair swayed beneath him and he placed a hand down to steady himself, but his stomach was churning cold, like an ice grinder. He stood suddenly and at once the friendly conversations stopped. Yes, everyone was still on edge around him; they couldn't hide it with feigned interest and jokes. He clenched his jaw.

"Shiro?" Ichigo asked standing as well.

He bristled, thinking of the Pinewood invoice, but he couldn't confront him now. "Just going to change; this tie is choking me."

As he left the room he heard Yuzu mutter, "Is everything alright with him?"

"I... I'm not sure," Ichigo replied.

Not sure? Toushiro was suddenly furious. He didn't remember going to all those therapy sessions and keeping them a secret? He slammed the door to the bedroom shut, not caring if they heard him from downstairs. He undressed with rough, jerky movements, almost scratching himself as he unbuttoned his shirt. He knew that Ichigo's family was supposed to arrive sometime this week, but this had to be the worst possible day. He wanted to talk to Ichigo, but he knew that he wasn't going to be able to keep calm. He didn't need the others to see what a mess he still was. He shook out his pants and went into the walk-in closet to hang them up for later in the week, when he heard the door creak open. He jumped slightly, picking up the wire hanger and holding it out in front of him.

Ichigo flicked on closet light and paused for a second before striding over and wrapping his arms around Toushiro's waist. Toushiro tensed, grinding his teeth when he toyed with the hem of his undershirt.

"What's wrong?" Ichigo asked softly bending down to place a soft kiss on his forehead.

His touch made Toushiro itch. "Nothing," he snapped, pushing Ichigo away and resuming hanging up his pants.

Ichigo sighed softly, "Rough day at work?"

Toushiro didn't answer.

"Was it one of the parents again?"

He pushed past him and bristled to the bathroom. Ichigo followed.

"You can talk to me, babe. What's bothering you?" He tried putting his arms around him again, pulling his back against his chest. Toushiro roughly shoved him away.

"Baby-"

"Leave me alone," he snipped, "I can't talk to you right now."

Ichigo frowned and his arms dropped to his sides. "Why? What did I do?"

Toushiro had to physically stop himself from exploding right there. He was just about ready to lash out and yell his head off. "Just leave," he growled.

Ichigo held his hands up and slowly backed out of the bathroom. "Fine," he snapped, "dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes, if you want to _grace_ us with your presence."

The door shut with a resounding click and Toushiro hunched over the sink, yanking his hair. He clenched his jaw and took several deep breaths. Still, his skin itched where Ichigo had touched him. He didn't trust himself to keep calm during dinner, so he took a long shower, taking time to shampoo and condition his hair. He even shaved, usually preferring to do that in the mornings because his beard grew fast and shaving too often irritated his face. But irritated skin wasn't any worse than freaking out at his husband over dinner. He wasn't hungry anyway. He picked up his glasses and noticed a few smudges of dirt on the lenses. His hands trembled terribly as he cleaned them. Was his entire marriage a lie now? Ichigo clearly didn't trust him, so why would anything he had said or done yesterday be true?

...

Everyone walked on eggshells around Toushiro the next day. He was glad that he had to leave so early for work, but even there he was constantly being asked if he was alright. He and Ichigo slept on opposite sides of the bed, not touching, not talking. The redhead would have probably gone to the couch, if Karin wasn't sleeping there – even with the furniture that they had just brought, there weren't enough beds.

Toushiro was agitated. His skin prickled constantly, the shaking got worse, and his chest and throat were painfully tight all the time. At work, the secretary – a friendly woman of Irish heritage, named Rachel – tried to talk to him. She brought him tea when the trembling was noticeable and took the time to invite him to have lunch with the other faculty. He did not want his home-life to become a problem at school, so he accepted, but it was hard to eat anything with his throat so tight.

On Wednesday Ichigo texted him saying that the Abarais had invited his family out for dinner and if he wanted to join he could leave work early. He declined and stayed late that day. This time they had left on few lights for him, but with the house so big and empty he ended up going straight to bed.

He had only been asleep for about half an hour when someone stroking his shoulder woke him. He was about to roll over and punch Ichigo in his face, but something was off. He didn't feel Ichigo's body behind him. Toushiro shut his eyes and took several deep breaths; he was hallucinating again, whatever was touching him wasn't real. The room wasn't really freezing; his blankets weren't like ice on his skin. He wasn't really feeling a rough hand run up and down his thigh, or the jagged nails that circled his navel. He held his breath and scrunched his face into a grimace. It all felt so real, though, but it couldn't be. If anyone's skin was that cold they should have been dead. He chewed his bottom lip when a nail was pressed into his jaw and a slippery, slimy tongue slid into his ear. It wasn't real, it wasn't real; it was only a hallucination.

The tongue slid across his jaw and he almost gagged. What was that smell? The room suddenly smelt of rotting eggs. He covered his nose and mouth, but his hand was ripped away, the grip on it crushing, and he gasped as his injured fingers were squeezed together. A set of scaly fingers wormed their way between his lips. They tasted vile, like sour milk and rust, and one was missing; the ring finger was nothing but a crumbling stub. He jerked his head back, spluttering, but something held him firm, and he couldn't move. Toushiro whimpered aloud, as his breathing became erratic and shaky. His stomach clenched and churned, shooting bile to the back of this throat. He clamped down on the fingers in his mouth, wincing as something retched filled his mouth. The hand on his thigh gripped so tightly that he felt a few blood vessels burst before sharp, jagged nails dug into his leg and hot blood burned his chilled skin. Small tears pooled in his eyes as his jaw was roughly forced open and the fingers continued the exploration of his mouth. Nails nicked his gums and he gagged loudly when one jabbed into the back of his throat. He repeated, like a mantra, that this was not real, none of this was real, but, god, it felt –

A pair of sandpapery lips knocked into the corner of his mouth and real or not, he struggled to move, thrashing his entire body and screaming past the fingers gagging him. Somehow, he found himself running down the hallway, blindly stumbling into walls and furniture. Every door was slamming open and closed and the curtains flew up and around their rods as if reaching out to strangle him. He felt his way down the hallway, reaching for the banisters around the staircase. But the floor was swaying, making him fall over with every step and the walls danced and jumped away from his hands. He made it down a few stairs when the wood beneath his feet lurched. He pitched forward, unable to keep his balance or hold on to the railing. He heard someone yell his name, and saw a flash of orange. Large hands wrapped around his waist, stopping him from falling any further.

"Whoa, Shiro, where are your glasses?" Ichigo asked, half joking.

Toushiro stilled. Had Ichigo come home to see him nearly fall down the stairs? Had he heard him screaming? His head began to spin even faster; drops of liquid anger dripped into a pit in his stomach. His chest tingled in rage; Ichigo had caught him, stopped him from falling, and saved him. Ichigo the liar. He couldn't hold it in anymore. He pushed Ichigo away, but of course he didn't budge and Toushiro was the one who fell backwards, landing on his butt.

Ichigo lunged forward to catch him again. "Shiro-"

"Don't touch me!" he yelled, "Don't fucking touch me!"

Ichigo took a step backwards. "What is wrong with you?"

"Wrong with me? With me?" He rose to his feet, clutching the railing with a shaking hand.

"Calm down." Ichigo reached out for his shoulder, but Toushiro slapped him away.

"I said; don't touch me with your filthy, lying hands!"

"What are you-"

"Don't pretend like you're fucking innocent. I know about Pinewood-"

Ichigo grabbed both of his hands in one of his and shoved him up a couple stairs. "Be quiet," he hissed. Toushiro was about to protest, but the grip on his hands tightened. Ichigo took a deep breath and looked over his shoulder. "I, uh... have to talk to Toushiro about something," he said, "thanks for dinner, Renji... hope you and Rukia have a good night."

Toushiro's breath caught in his throat when he noticed several blurry figures standing behind Ichigo. He recognised Isshin and Karin's faces hovering over his shoulder and spotted Renji's bright hair not far behind. The others were blurry blobs standing at the foot of the staircase. He yanked his hands from Ichigho's grip and stumbled up the rest of the stairs and back to his bedroom. He was going to be sick; he slumped against the wall and placed his head between his knees. Everyone had seen him yell at Ichigo and make a fool out of himself. He wasn't supposed to... he was supposed to be getting better. A choked sob escaped his lips and the bedroom door creaked open. Ichigo stepped in and stood in front of him, a looming, incredibly pissed figure.

"What the hell was that, Toushiro?"

And Toushiro raised his head, knowing that once he started shouting, he wouldn't stop.

* * *

**Roller coasters are fun! This is turning out to be much more drama than horror, but I can't say that I'm sorry. **

**Please leave a review on your way out. **

**-Mymomomo**


	7. Frigid

"Keep your voice down," Ichigo hissed after Toushiro leapt to his feet and immediately started yelling about Pinewood Medical Centre. He clenched his jaw tightly as his warning went unheeded.

"You were seeing a therapist? And you didn't even tell me," Toushiro shouted.

"I said keep your voice down." He didn't mean to, but he found himself towering over his husband. Toushiro took a small step backwards, bumping into the wall. "I don't need my family and the Abarais to overhear anything."

Toushiro narrowed his eyes dangerously. His face was flushed from yelling and his hands were balled into fists. "I don't care!"

Ichigo growled and turned around, perching himself on the edge of the bed. Knowing his dad and Yuzu, the whole family probably was probably getting blow-by-blow details of what was happening right now. Rolling his eyes, he turned his attention back to his fuming husband.

"Y-you went behind my back! You didn't even think of telling me! I found out from a fucking email, Ichigo, an invoice!"

Ichigo took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. Toushiro still wasn't himself; he couldn't afford for both of them to be irrational. "Why were you reading my emails in the first place?"

"It was in our joint account! I'm not the one at fault here; don't turn this on me! I didn't-"

"I'm sorry I upset you, then. I'm sorry that I needed a bit of help after our _son died_," Ichigo snipped. He really shouldn't have said that, but sometimes Toushiro's irritability really got to him and he couldn't be the bigger person. He almost regretted speaking, seeing how his husband reacted.

Toushiro's eyes flashed while he wrapped his arms around himself, as if trying to protect himself from something. "We-we're not supposed to keep secrets from each other! You said that we'd rely on one another, that we'd get through this together! You can't keep on hiding things from me!"

Ichigo sighed heavily and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "How can I rely on someone who keeps on shutting me out?"

"Shutting _you_ out? I came to _you_; I came crawling for help-"

"No. You _asked_ for help after you – out of nowhere – decided that you wanted to move to Wyoming, _after_ you searched for a new job without even telling me you had quit your old one. _Don't _try to lecture _me_ on keeping secrets."

Toushiro looked like he had been slapped in the face. His entire body was trembling and Ichigo swallowed, trying to calm things down. The last thing he needed was for Toushiro to start acting like he was being attacked. He would shut down and throw a tantrum, and things would start going downhill even faster than they already were.

"We're both at fault here," Ichigo sighed, "If neither of us can talk to one another then something's definitely wrong."

"You... you could have told me," Toushiro muttered, shaking his head violently, "I didn't... I didn't... I thought I was the only one hurt."

Ichigo blinked. Toushiro thought that he was the only one who was hurt by Ken's death? It didn't take much to annoy him, but to get him truly angry generally took great effort. To hear that his husband thought he didn't care about his own son did the trick in seconds. He balled his fists in the fabric of his pants and took several deep, even breaths before speaking again.

"He was my son, too; of course I was hurt."

"You didn't act like it!"

"You didn't give me the chance to!" The volume of his own voice surprised him. He forcibly stopped himself from yelling his next sentence. "When Ken died, when you got depressed, how could I wallow in self-pity? Even when you started to get better, the moment I mentioned his name you shut down. You didn't want to talk about him; you still don't, so how exactly am I supposed to prove to you that I _loved_ my son?"

"So, all of this is my fault, then, as always!" His voice shook, and his eyes were suddenly glassy.

"I didn't say that!" Ichigo jumped from the bed and stomped over to him. Toushiro turned away, almost hunching over himself and trembling. Ichigo sighed softly and stooped down to his level. "I want to talk, I want to include you in everything, hell, there's a new character I'm trying to write that I want to talk to you about," he took a deep breath, "But I wanted... I want to talk to you about Ken the most." Toushiro clamped his mouth shut and wound his arms tighter around himself. Ichigo continued, "I know, believe me, I know how hard Ken's death was, but what was even harder was watching as you blamed yourself and fell apart." He placed a hand on Toushiro's shoulder, feeling his own throat start to close up. "I miss him too; I would do anything to get him back, god, anything-"

"Shut up," Toushiro muttered, still looking away from him.

Ichigo recoiled, withdrawing his hand. He had known it was coming. This was precisely why he had gone to see a therapist; his husband couldn't talk to him about what truly mattered.

"I don't want to talk about him. I can't."

Ichigo straightened and went back to his place on the bed. "Well, there you have it." He took a deep breath, but his vision still blurred slightly. "I've been patient, Toushiro, I've waited, I've stood beside you through everything. We've been tiptoeing around each other for so long that I can't even remember the last time we had a normal conversation. And, honestly, I'm tired." Toushiro didn't respond. "I can't do this forever. I want you to get better; I want to be back where we were before all this happened." There was still no response. "But I need you to talk to me! How can I stop coddling you; how can I include you in what I do, when you won't tell me anything?" He stood back up and with a few quick strides was back before Toushiro. He dropped to his knees. "Speak to me, Toushiro."

Toushiro seemed to cower even more. Ichigo growled in frustration, clamping his hands around Toushiro's skinny arms. "Please, tell me something, anything!" He spun the small body to face him, but Toushiro stubbornly turned his head away. "I'm begging, Toushiro, tell me how to fix this! You wanted to move; we moved. What else? What else can I do? We're supposed to be getting better, so, tell me, why do I feel like we're getting worse?"

Toushiro remained silent, looking off to the side like he was frozen. "Look at me, Toushiro," Ichigo growled, reaching up to grab his chin and force him to look him in the face.

Toushiro screwed his eyes shut.

"I said, look at me! Look at me, damnit!"

His fingers left angry, red indents along Toushiro's jaw when he tightened his grasp, and he could feel him grind his teeth under the thin layer of skin. Ichigo held his breath as he let his hand fall from his husband's face. It always shocked him just how easily he could overpower his husband, and it disgusted him when his control slipped and he did. He went back to the bed and sat, covering his face with his palms. The room was deathly silent for a few minutes. When Toushiro gave no inclination to speak or even move Ichigo let his hands fall away. His eyes were still screwed shut, a pained expression covered his face, and he was nearly as pale as his white t-shirt. He was curled around himself, shaking, and his toes curled against the wooden floor. Ichigo breathed in deeply as he looked his husband up and down. He frowned at a hand shaped mark on his thigh, it looked as though someone had grabbed him, the red mark was already darkening to a purple at the edges. Had he... he didn't remember touching his thigh, though. He let out a deep breath; he didn't remember a lot of things when he was angry.

"What do you want to do?" Ichigo asked softly, bitterly. "We're getting worse and worse and sometimes I wonder why we're still together." Toushiro still didn't respond. Ichigo stood up yet again, and forced himself to the door. "Is that what you want? A divorce?"

Toushiro flinched at that and took a raspy breath. Ichigo's heart leapt hopefully; good, if he was disturbed at the mention of a divorce-

"I don't know."

Ichigo swallowed heavily and slammed the door on his way out. He paused for a minute to drag his hands down his face, wiping away the wetness that had gathered at the corners of his eyes. He took a few deep breaths to collect himself. Well, that was that. If Toushiro didn't want to be married to him, if he didn't know if he wanted to be married to him, he wouldn't fight. He wouldn't force him to be in a broken relationship. He felt as if his stomach had dropped to his feet as he shuffled down stairs. He needed to clear his head and think about this further. God, how could everything go so terribly _wrong_? He had lost his son and had been losing his husband for the better part of a year. He been trying, as hard as he could to keep the man he loved from slipping through his fingers, but now it was all over. All his effort had been for nothing, he had lost everything.

"Ichigo?"

Ichigo raised his head, realising that he had made it downstairs and that everyone was in the living room watching him in concern. Even Renji and Rukia sat uncomfortably on the love seat. He cleared his throat.

"You didn't have to wait." He scratched the back of his neck.

There was a moment of silence, before Yuzu purposefully strode across the room and wrapped her arms around him. He shut his eyes, trying his very best not to cry in front of everyone.

"How're you doing?" she asked softly.

Ichigo sighed deeply and brought his arms up to return the hug. "I'll be fine, Yu."

She squeezed him tightly and rubbed his back comfortingly. He took a few minutes to let her hug him, breathing in her strawberry scented shampoo, letting it calm him. When he let go, it was grudgingly and he turned to the others. Isshin patted the couch next to him and Ichigo sighed as he went over to sit down.

"Sorry, you guys had to see that," he muttered, feeling his cheeks heat.

Rukia suddenly took Renji's hand and Ichigo could practically see the question forming on his friend's mouth. He decided to speak before Renji could embarrass himself – and Rukia – yet again.

"Toushiro and I aren't in a very good place right now," he sighed. His dad placed a hand on his knee. "We haven't been in a few months."

Renji let out a harsh breath. "Ah, shit, did I make it worse the other night?"

"No. No no no, you didn't do anything. It's just... he hasn't been himself since..." his throat closed and tears threatened to fall. His dad squeezed his knee and took over.

"Their son, Ken'Ichi, died earlier this year. Toushiro blamed himself and fell into depression; he's still struggling with it, but it's been hard... on everyone."

"Ichigo," Rukia said softly, "I'm so sorry. If you need anything, anything at all, please tell us."

Ichigo smiled glumly. "Thanks."

Renji and Rukia left only after they made sure that Ichigo was alright; Renji said he'd take a rain-check on going out for a drink. Ichigo expected his family to asked a million questions, but they didn't. Karin hooked up his laptop to the television, which was strange because he didn't remember giving her his password, and played some overly violent action movie that had him cringing at the badly paced plot and poorly developed characters. Yuzu made him some tea and rested her check against his shoulder. Jinta was more reserved, but sent Ichigo a comforting grin every time he looked over. His dad was surprisingly calm as things went, only trying to pull him onto his lap once. When Ichigo vehemently refused, he compromised by throwing his arms around him and stroking his hair.

...

Ichigo surprised himself by being able to sleep that night. Isshin had insisted that they share a bed when he noticed that Ichigo was hesitating in going back to his room. He expected more efforts in cuddling, but his dad gave him room and didn't needle him to talk. The same went for everyone at breakfast the next morning. He woke up to Yuzu cooking up a storm in the kitchen, pancakes, eggs, bacon, oatmeal; the whole set. They all chatted softly, skirting around the topic of Toushiro. Ichigo tried to smile and contribute to the conversations, but he couldn't help the cold, empty feeling in his stomach and he kept on glancing around, half expecting, hoping that his husband would join them. For a split second he panicked when he noticed that Toushiro's car was gone, thinking that he had left for good, but then he remembered that he had a job. He silently berated himself, shaking his head and sighing. If anything, he should get used to the idea of being alone.

"Hey," Karin elbowed him in the ribs, bringing him back to the kitchen, "I found a site that streams free _Crossfit_ videos, if you wanna..."

"Yeah." Ichigo shook his head then forced himself to grin. "Yeah, that'd be great actually."

"First one to barf buys the other lunch."

He found his grin turning genuine. "You're on."

"Wait, breakfast will be ready soon," Yuzu pouted.

"Save us some," Karain shrugged. Ichigo winced apologetically as his younger sister shoved him from the kitchen.

Neither of them ended up barfing, but Karin offered to buy him lunch anyway. She said that she'd rather die than let some guy pay for her, even if the guy was her brother. Still, later that day Ichigo found himself sitting in his bedroom and staring at his hands. How could he have failed Toushiro so badly? He had thought that they were getting better and it turns out he hadn't been more wrong. He clenched his jaw tightly; how could he have let this happen? He had only wanted to protect Toushiro; he had gone through so much and deserved to be happy. Ichigo remembered him smiling a few days before the accident. He had, after a long battle, cut off all relations with his father; the man could no longer poison him with his words. Toushiro had been almost blissful for a few days, and then Ken died.

Ichigo growled; he should have told him. He should have told him about everything, the therapy, the house, but he had been frightened to. Knowing his husband, if he had found out that Ichigo was seeing a therapist he would have blamed himself. He already blamed himself for Ken's death; Ichigo couldn't give him the chance to take this on as well. He took a deep breath in an effort to stop his heart from thudding so heavily in his chest.

"Knock knock," Isshin called entering the bedroom. Ichigo jumped slightly and glanced over his shoulder.

"Hey, dad," he muttered, not quite sure if he wanted to talk yet. His dad didn't give him the chance to figure it out, however.

"Let's go for a walk; being cooped up in here isn't doing you any good."

"I was just thinking. I don't need you guys to distract me from this anymore. Thanks, but-"

"No, I think that you and I need to have a much needed talk."

Ichigo sighed, "Fine."

Isshin waited until they were a good distance from the house, shoes crunching against dirt and loose stones. The bright sun was filtered through pine needles and the air was crisp, almost calming, a few birds chirped happily as they flitted overhead. They could still see the house from in between the sparse pine trees even though they had been walking for almost ten minutes in silence.

"So," Isshin began, "What's going on with you and Toushiro."

Ichigo let out a large puff of air. "I'm not sure, honestly. We argued about so many things last night..."

"We heard Ken's name come up a few times."

Ichigo looked at his feet, willing his throat not to close up. "Yeah... You think we wouldn't argue over that of all things."

"He's still blaming himself?"

"That's just it, I assume so, but whenever I try to talk to him about it he shuts down and pushes me away. I don't know what to do, dad. I want to help him, but I don't even know how. He was mad at me because I didn't tell him I was seeing a therapist – I didn't tell anyone, not just him – and he said that we shouldn't be keeping secrets from one another and that we should be relying on one another. I get it, but he's been so unpredictable, I don't know how he will react. He gets mad at the smallest things; I don't know what's alright to say or what isn't."

"He's depressed, Ichigo, you can't blame him."

"I know I know... you've told me that how many times. I know how I should be treating him. But, dad, I'm so tired." He choked on the last few words and cleared his throat before continuing. "I thought that he was finally doing better last week, but something happened and he had another tantrum in the kitchen."

"There are going to be many ups and downs; he's not just going to snap out of it. Medication doesn't work like that."

"If only." Ichigo shook his head. "I don't want to lose him too. But, he shakes all the time, he's constantly nauseated and drowsy, he barely eats; you saw how much weight he's lost. I want to help him so badly and I can't."

Isshin put an arm around Ichigo's shoulders.

"I really fucked up last night, dad." His throat did close this time and his eyes stung. "I said so many things that I know I shouldn't have and I don't know if he even wants me around anymore."

Isshin hummed and pulled Ichigo into his side. "Don't think that way. He needs you as much as you need him and don't you forget that. Let's just give him some space; he's confused and probably needs time to think. How about we get a hotel room for a few days? That way both of you can recover."

Ichigo nodded.

"But I want you to call him, make sure he knows you're not leaving him. And if he doesn't answer, text. He may be on medication now, but we still can't take any chances."

They fell into silence for a few minutes.

"Now what was this about seeing a therapist?" Isshin muttered, "Ichigo, if you were really struggling that much you could always have come to me."

Ichigo felt his cheeks heat. "No, you helped so much when Ken... I couldn't unload my problems on to you or the twins. You have your own stuff to deal with."

"Your stuff is my stuff, why do you have to be so stubborn all the time. Anyway, I'm here now, so speak."

"What?"

"Speak, I want to know everything, every ugly detail."

"Dad... I really... now's not the best time for this."

"Okay, then. Whenever you're ready."

...

Ichigo packed a small bag with a few clothes and some overnight stuff. If felt strange, like he was sneaking out. But he had texted Toushiro to tell him that he would be staying with his family in a hotel for a few nights. He would be back. He swallowed as he rolled a pair of sweatpants into a tight ball. Toushiro had replied with a simple 'okay'. At least he wasn't mad enough to ignore him completely. It wasn't comforting, but it did make him feel a fraction better. He fished around the closet for a pair of jeans, shivering slightly at the temperature. He huffed softly and threw the pants over his shoulders, like a short cape. This was getting ridiculous; he was scared to see what their electricity bill was going to be like. He bent down to pull a few t-shirts from one of the lower shelves. He ran his fingers along the soft cotton, but jumped slightly when something cold pressed against his lower back. He just noticed that his shirt had ridden up his back when he bent down, and he hastily glanced around trying to see what had touched him.

You're losing it, Ichigo, he thought angrily. Stupid Renji and his stupid ghosts. He quickly grabbed a few of the nearest shirts and shuffled out of the closet. He still couldn't help but look over his shoulder and closed the closet door with his foot.

Still, as he folded his clothes, icy shivers ran down his spine and every so often he felt as if someone was pressing ice to his neck. He hurriedly raided the bathroom for his toiletries and zipped up with bag without even double checking that he had everything. As he left the room something rough and slimy traced the shell of his ear. He shuddered and waved his arm, as if trying to clear the air, but then something looped around his neck and pulled him back in.

"What the hell?" he shouted, spinning on his heel with his fists up, ready to attack. The room was empty, yet something was crawling up his front. Icy _hands_ pressed into his hips then rose higher. His eyes widened when his shirt seemed to lift of its own accord. Sharp, brittle nails dug into his abs, poked his navel, and toyed with the sparse hairs that disappeared beneath his pants. All Ichigo's thoughts halted to a jarring stop, except for his inner voice that was screaming, 'what the hell what the hell what the hell'. He stumbled backwards at the same time pushing his hands out, trying to get rid of whatever the fuck was touching him. His wrist was caught, however, in a crushing grip. He felt his bones grind together painfully and grunted, punching at the air with his free hand. Whatever the hell was going on, he wasn't about to –

"Ichigo?" Karin questioned, trotting past the door. "You shouted?"

He jumped and spun around, the hands vanished and he began to wonder if they had been there to begin with. He needed to sleep. He needed to sit down and clear his head. He needed to get out of this house.

Karin rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue. "Just because you're working on your six-pack doesn't mean I wanna see your hairy-ass stomach."

Ichigo yanked his shirt back down, chewing the inside of his cheek and glancing over his shoulder.

"What's wrong? You look like you just saw a ghost."

Ichigo bent to pick up his bag, unaware that he had even dropped it and stepped out of the room, making sure to pull the door firmly shut.

"It's nothing," he muttered, sliding past her, "the house is just creepy sometimes."

...

Somehow Rukia found out that Ichigo and his family were planning on staying in a hotel and wouldn't have any of it. Renji backed her up, saying that they had plenty of extra room, and that they'd be glad for the company. Ichigo gave in after a few minutes of Rukia talking non-stop. He really didn't want to inconvenience his new friends, but he'd only be staying with them for a day or two at the most.

He had texted Toushiro to tell him about the change of plans, but he didn't reply, and Ichigo's mood plummeted. He texted him goodnight before he fell asleep and good morning as soon as he woke up. There was still no response. He spent nearly a full day staring at his phone, waiting for his husband to text him back. Eventually, Karin stole his phone for a few hours and took him out for the lunch she owed him, then mercilessly teased him about his 'healthy food obsession' when he denied her offer for pizza. He lost count of how many times he had been pushed into the pool by Renji who made a _special_ effort to try to cheer him up, or how many times Jinta offered to watch the game with him. Yuzu hugged him at every chance she got, and Rukia looked like she wanted to as well, but instead did what she could by giving him extra pillows and fluffy blankets, and tried making a paleo meal one night for dinner after she heard him mention wanting to try the diet.

Then before he knew it, it was time for his family to head back to San Francisco – he had spent over a week at the Abarias' and there had been no word from Toushiro. He tried calling, but, as expected, he didn't answer; all Ichigo's calls went straight to voice mail. And suddenly it had been nearly three weeks since he had been home. He felt guilty, for mooching off of Renji and Rukia, he had tried to leave, but like any mature adult, Rukia had sat on him until he promised her that he wouldn't go to a hotel. So, he stayed and wrote, and helped their maid, Irena, clean and cook while the couple was at work, and nearly wore out his phone trying to call Toushiro.

Eventually, he must have worn his husband down, because he answered. Ichigo had been expecting voice mail, so he almost jumped when Toushiro picked up. His stomach fluttered at the idea of Toushiro giving him another chance to fix things. He was at a complete emotional high for the few seconds before Toushiro spoke.

"Stop calling me," he almost spat and Ichigo felt his stomach dive to his feet. His fluttering heart paused then began to thud slowly like a funeral march.

"I... I... I just want to know that you're alright," he muttered, trying his hardest not to let his voice shake.

Toushiro huffed. "I'm fine. But I need some time to think."

"When can I come home?"

"I don't know."

"It's been three weeks."

Toushiro's silence told him that he hadn't realised just how much time had passed. Ichigo felt the room sway slightly. Not again, he thought as his entire body filled with dread. "Please tell me you've been going to work."

"I have," Toushiro spat.

"Okay. I didn't mean to make you mad. I just... I was-"

"I need to go-"

"I want to come home; we need to talk-"

"No. I can't. Not yet."

"I miss you."

Toushiro was silent for a few moments. "I need to go."

"Okay... bye. I love-"

He hung up before Ichigo could finish. Ichigo lowered his phone and let it slide onto the bed then rubbed away the wetness from his eyes. Suddenly, everything around him had turned grey. He felt empty, hollow, and cold. Far away he heard Irena start vacuuming then stop. He watched his shadow move from one side of the room to the next. He felt his feet start to ache from standing in one position so long, but even that was detached, as if they weren't really his feet. Then when the room became too dark for him to see anything, something soft hit his head then dropped to the floor.

"What are you doing standing in the dark like that, you freak," Renji called from the doorway. "Come on, we're going out."

Ichigo slowly bent to pick up the jacket that Renji threw at him. "I'm not really in the mood-"

"Well get in the mood. I'm not gonna let your asshole of a husband turn you into a zombie like this. Irena said you didn't have lunch, so we're going out to eat then we're getting piss-ass drunk."

Ichigo sighed; the offer did sound tempting, but he still hesitated.

"Come on, just to get your mind off things. You need this; trust me."

"I don't-"

"Come on," Renji goaded, "it'll do you good."

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck. Going out wouldn't be such a bad idea; he did need a drink after that conversation. He clenched his fist around the jacket.

"Come on... come on... come on."

"Okay-"

"I will drag your ass out of this house, Kurosaki-"

Ichigo snorted and strode out of the darkness, pushing the emptiness to the back of his mind. "I already said okay. And it's Kurosaki-Hitsugaya."

"Pfft, I'm not calling you that; it's too damn long. We'll have a second ice-age by the time I finish saying your name."

"Shut up." Ichigo rolled his eyes as he pulled on the jacket and headed towards the stairs. "Is Rukia coming?"

"Nah, guys' night. Besides – I'm not even ashamed to say it – she can probably drink us under the table."

A chuckle bubbled past Ichigo's lips. "I'm not surprised."

"And we'll need someone to pick us up once we're too drunk to drive."

Ichigo shook his head, "Yeah don't wanna run into any sheep."

Renji snorted as he elbowed Ichigo through the front door.

"You boys have fun!" Rukia called as they left.

Ichigo believed that they would.

* * *

**So much dialogue :/ and feels... all the feels ever. **

**I don't want to turn Toushiro into a villain, but rather highlight how difficult depression can be on a person and their loved ones. Plus there's a lot of other stuff at play as well. It's kinda difficult to balance the shift between Ichigo and Toushiro, but I want to portray both sides of the story. **

**Anyway, thanks for reading, and to all those who reviewed and/or followed and faved last week. **

**Still, looking forward to what you guys have to say to this :)**

**-Mymomomo**


	8. The Servant and the Ring

Ichigo's head was pounding the next morning. The bed swayed beneath him and he felt like he was going to throw up. The bright light that assaulted his eyes did not help much. He wanted to fall back asleep, but the fear of vomiting prevented him. He curled into a ball and groaned loudly. Why did he drink that last beer? Renji was a complete idiot; why did he listen to him. Ichigo couldn't remember the last time he was this hungover. The last time was maybe... college? He winced. Neither he nor Toushiro were big drinkers, sure he'd have a beer or occasionally a glass of whisky or bourbon. But he had lost track of the number of drinks last night, especially since Renji was paying. His stomach lurched as the stale food and alcohol tried to crawl up his throat. This was it; he was going to die. He vowed that he was never going to drink again, no matter what Renji said, no matter how liberating last night was, and no matter that he had felt genuinely happy for the first time in years. He didn't have to worry about saying the wrong thing, he didn't have to hold his breath or walk on his tiptoes, and if it wasn't for the god-awful hangover he would love to do it again.

Taking a deep breath to keep his stomach where it was, he reached over to the night stand for his phone. It was already nine o'clock; way past the time he normally got up. He groaned again, placing the phone back down only to nearly knock over a glass of water. He blinked, noticing two painkillers and a sticky note with one of Rukia's signature lumpy hearts. He smiled despite himself and sat up immediately throwing back the pills with a gulp of water. He sat for a few minutes, waiting for the medicine to take effect before getting up and dragging himself to the bathroom. After a long shower he felt marginally better, but his phone flashing from the nightstand drew his attention.

A missed call?

Frowning he swiped the screen and his heart leapt to his mouth when he saw his husband's name come up. He didn't hesitate to call him back.

"Hey, Shiro," Ichigo said uneasily as he perched himself on the foot of the bed. "You called?"

Toushiro didn't answer right away. "Yeah... uh, can you...canyoucomeback?"

Ichigo blinked, unable to find words and was probably silent enough to worry Toushiro.

"Can you come back home? I know that I said something different yesterday, but-"

Ichigo felt himself smile around his sentence. "Yes, of course. Are you... are you ready to talk?"

Toushiro swallowed audibly. "We can... just put this behind us."

Ichigo sighed internally and ran a hand through his hair. "That's not-"

"And the house is creepy; I don't like being here by myself."

"I really think we should talk before I move back in-"

"Fine, we'll talk... just come back home."

"Okay, I'll be back by lunch. Love you."

"Okay... yo-you too."

His head began to pound once more when he hung up. He was glad, beyond glad, that Toushiro had asked him to come home, but even though he had said that they would talk Ichigo knew that he wouldn't want to. Toushiro was going to bury the argument, like he normally did with stressful things. Even before the accident Ichigo had a hard time to try to get him to speak about his feelings. He already knew how this was going to play out. Toushiro was either going to pretend like they didn't fight, or become even more cold and distant.

Baby steps, he reminded himself, at least Toushiro had asked him to come back, even if it was out of fear. The thought had Ichigo frowning as he rifled through his bag for some clothes. The house was a bit creepy, mostly because it was so old. But he was the jumpy one, the one easily spooked; Toushiro braved the most terrifying movies without so much as batting an eye. What could have possibly made Toushiro scared and change his opinion over night? Ichigo swallowed; damn Renji and his ghost stories. Now that ghosts were in his head, the house just seemed so much scarier and he felt terrible for leaving Toushiro alone.

He recalled the coldness, the weird dreams, and he was positive that he really had felt someone touching him a few times. Then there was that time we he had woke up with bruises on his neck; they had been there for days and he still didn't know how he got them. Plus, there was Ken's room... he shivered and rubbed his hands up and down his arms. It couldn't have been a ghost. Ghosts weren't real. But... he shook his head; he wasn't going to think about that. It had just been a coincidence that the door had gotten stuck on Toushiro's hand _after_ he saw a strange shadow. It had nothing to do with the fact that people had died in the house and were probably seeking revenge. No, Ichigo growled at himself, ghosts weren't real... he needed to do some research.

...

"You're going home?" Renji asked almost incredulously as he shoved a mug of coffee into Ichigo's hands.

"Yeah, Toushiro called this morning. He wants me to come back." Ichigo took a seat next to Rukia at the breakfast bar.

"And you're gonna go, just like that?"

Ichigo frowned. "What do you mean 'just like that'? I want to go home; we've all been waiting for this."

Renji huffed and turned back to the stove where he was frying some sausages and eggs. "I really don't like how he's treating you."

Ichigo sighed and exchanged a wilting look with Rukia. Renji had made sure to make his opinion on Toushiro known last night. Ichigo had been okay just venting to him for a while, but Renji seemed to have taken everything to heart.

"He's depressed."

"That's no reason for him to act-"

"It's every reason for him to be this way. The chemicals in his brain are messed up; he's not fully responsible."

"That doesn't mean I have to like it."

Rukia rolled her eyes before taking a sip from her mug of tea. "No, it doesn't, but he's married to Ichigo, not you."

Renji clicked his tongue in annoyance then slid the sausages onto a large plate. "All I'm saying is that you need to watch out for yourself as well. You're obviously stressed out; I never would have guessed that you're still in your thirties."

Ichigo shook his head. "I'm not sure if that's an insult or..."

"What he means," Rukia supplied, "Is that if you ever need help, we're here for you."

...

Ichigo held his breath as he unlocked the front door. Toushiro had seemed calm enough on the phone, but he was still nervous. Cold air hit him full force as soon as he opened the door. The first thing he did was to rush to the thermostat to turn down the air conditioning. The temperature was set a few degrees lower than he'd normally like, but the air in the room didn't match. How was Toushiro surviving in this? Speaking of which, where was he?

He set his bag down at the foot of the stairs and wandered into the kitchen, through the dining room, and gave the living room a once over. Toushiro had been right; the empty house was creepy, apart from the few photographs he had hung up, the house could have passed for uninhabited. He bit his bottom lip; they really needed to buy more things; maybe if it wasn't so empty it would be less unnerving. Even the eight seat dining table didn't cut it; leaving way too much open room for it to be comfortable.

A curtain fluttered and Ichigo realised that the door to the back porch was open. Toushiro was sitting on the steps with his head resting on his arms, and wrapped tightly in a large, wool sweater. He looked to be sleeping, breaths deep and even, and his glasses lay folded next to his feet. Ichigo stood still for a while and simply watched him. Toushiro almost felt like a stranger; they hadn't seen each other for three weeks, but Ichigo was now noticing things he hadn't before. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his cheeks were beginning to look hollow. Ichigo felt a pang in his gut. He really should have been firmer when it came to his eating habits; when was his last meal? Had he even been eating properly these past few weeks?

Ichigo sighed and bent over to gently wake him. Toushiro jumped slightly and looked around with wide, panicked eyes before he recognised Ichigo.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he said as Toushiro rubbed his eyes. "How are you?"

Toushiro let out a deep breath and hugged his shoulders. "I've been better..."

Ichigo sat down next to him. "You asked me to come back."

"I did," he took another deep breath, "I didn't mean to shout at you; I'm sorry."

Ichigo nodded. It was a step in the right direction. "I'm sorry, too, for shouting and not telling you that I was seeing a therapist. I want us to be able to talk about everything, but-"

"Can we talk about this later?"

Ichigo glanced at Toushiro from the corner of his eye; he was looking intently at the lawn, obviously trying to avoid eye contact and chewing his bottom lip. Ichigo narrowed his eyes slightly. He really shouldn't push, but he didn't come back just to sweep their argument under the rug. He pressed his fingertips together.

"I think we should talk about it now."

Toushiro tensed, but made no argument.

He continued, "I don't want to have any more of these huge fights any time soon. And I can only figure out what I'm doing wrong if you tell me." He pushed his hair roughly from his forehead and turned so that he was facing his husband. "You're sorry for what happened and so am I, but being sorry isn't going to help us. How can we fix this?"

"Can we?" Toushiro asked so softly that Ichigo almost didn't hear. He rubbed his temples with trembling hands. "I fucked up, Ichigo, I fucked up so badly. Any sane person should have left by now; I would leave me. Why, why are you still here?"

Ichigo raised his eyebrows. "Why am I... because I love you, Shiro. I'm not going to leave you when you're like this, only a complete asshole would-"

"You nearly did."

Ichigo frowned. "What-"

"Nevermind." Toushiro took a deep breath. "I... I... I wouldn't blame you if you did leave; you didn't sign up for all this crazy-"

"This isn't your fault, babe-"

"It is. It is." He shook his head and clutched his sweater tightly. "I can't control myself. You don't deserve all of this _shit-_"

Ichigo snorted, "Shit? You mean your illness? I told you we're gonna get through this together; we're a team."

Toushiro continued to shake his head. "No, you didn't tell me that you were seeing a therapist because I'm a fucking mess. We aren't a team anymore."

"Okay, so how do we do this? How do we become a team?"

"I don't know."

Ichigo was silent for a while. He was right to think that they were broken. Even in these moments of clarity, Toushiro was trying to push him away. But, he was not going to go that easily; he had invested way too much into their relationship to just walk away. He swallowed thickly.

"No more secrets."

Toushiro looked up, tilting his head.

"I started seeing Dr. Reed in April and ended our sessions one week before we moved. I told her everything about us; we talked about Ken, my books, the movies... about you and your dad-"

"Ichigo, you don't have to; it was wrong of me to snoop and get mad at you for trying to get help. I... I went to a doctor two weeks ago; he changed my prescription... and I've been feeling a little better lately."

Ichigo did a double take and his mouth formed a string of jumbled, silent words. "You went to the doctor?" he asked after a moment of disbelief, almost adding 'by yourself'.

Toushiro nodded slowly. "I had a lot of time to think, and after I spoke to you yesterday... "He took a deep breath, wringing his hands. For a minute he looked like he was going to get up and leave, but he remained sitting, albeit very uncomfortably. "I shouldn't have told you to stop calling – the doctor... he has me on two types of pills; I shouldn't... shouldn't blow up over little things... and I do, really do, want to get better. I hate being depressed, I hate being angry all the time."

Ichigo didn't wait to pull him into a tight hug. Toushiro went completely rigid, but he massaged the back of his skull and kissed the top of his head. "I'm so proud of you, baby."

He felt Toushiro take a heaving breath and place his forehead against the middle of his chest.

"I can't tell you what to do to fix us, because absolutely none of it is your fault," he mumbled.

"And don't you believe for a second that it's _yours_."

"It is."

"No." He rubbed large circles into Toushiro's back, wincing as he felt individual vertebrae and ribs. "And _that's_ something I'll be willing to start another fight about. None of it, none, is your fault."

"Then who do I blame?" Toushiro's voice was so soft that Ichigo wasn't sure that he was meant to hear what he said. He wasn't sure what to say anyway, so he kissed the top of his head once more and continued to rub his back.

...

The house was creepy; Ichigo knew the house was creepy. He had bought it knowing that it was going to be creepy. Every day Toushiro left him for work he would put his music as loud as it would go and wrap himself in the patchwork quilt that he kept on the couch. Nothing could sneak up on him in the living room; the large windows provided good enough mirrors that he could see behind him. He half expected to see half-formed faces every time he looked up; he was grateful that he didn't, though. And he couldn't shake the feeling that something was always watching them. The nights weren't any better. He had turned off the air conditioner completely, but it still was cold enough that he and Toushiro had to huddle together under multiple blankets.

He was willing to ignore it and maybe get a dog so that he wasn't alone all the time. But one night, nearly a month later, they both knew that they could no longer ignore the house's strangeness. Ichigo hadn't said anything to Toushiro about feeling uneasy throughout most of the day. They did not talk about the oddity that was 'Ken's room'. Ichigo thought that the ice-like fingers were all in his head; the strange bruises and bite-marks healed soon enough not to be worrying. He realised how wrong he was when he woke up one night to Toushiro holding his arm in a vice-like grip and staring at the foot of the bed. The next thing either of them knew he was being dragged across the room by some invisible force. They had been shaken up worse than the time Toushiro's hand had been caught in the bathroom door, but this time they couldn't find a logical explanation for it. Ichigo couldn't say that it had all been a dream because there were scratch marks on the footboard and a bruise on Toushiro's ankle.

Ichigo called the realtor the next day. He had been told that there was some trouble with the previous owners, but if it was something that could harm him and his husband then he would like details. At first she skirted around the subject, and Ichigo knew that she obviously knew more than she was letting on. He threatened to sue, on the grounds that the house was dangerous and he wasn't forewarned, and she relented afterwards, but refused to talk about it over the phone and gave him the address of a small coffee shop where they could meet.

It was no surprise that he arrived first. So, he ordered a coffee – black because he didn't trust any of those artificial flavours and sweeteners – and chose a table near the back of the store in case they had to discuss something private. The coffee was pleasantly delicious and he found himself relaxing as he took in the black and orange decorations that covered the store. Was it already Halloween? He picked up his phone; yes, it was the thirty-first of October. Where had the time gone? He shook his head and took another sip of his coffee. Well, with between worry about the house, worrying about Toushiro, and trying to finish his novel the date had been the least important thing. He only was aware when it was Friday, because he and Renji always when out for drinks on Fridays and, come to think, quite a few Fridays had passed after all. He smiled, wondering where he could find bulk candy so late and if trick-or-treaters went down Morrison Drive.

"Excuse me?" a woman with greying brown hair smiled at him and gave a little wave to get his attention. He frowned slightly; she wasn't the realtor, at least he didn't think she was.

"Mrs. Myers?" he asked.

She shook her head. "You're Ichigo Kurosaki-Hitsugaya, right? I work with your husband at the school."

"Oh." He grinned and rose to shake her hand, surprised that she had pronounced his name correctly. "It's nice to meet you..."

"Rachel, Rachel Hill. I meant to tell your husband this, but he left early and I didn't have the chance. The children, usually just a few trouble makers, like to dare each other to go to fifteen Morrison on Halloween. I think they used to break in and spend the night when it was empty, but now that you live there it shouldn't really be a problem. I just wanted to warn you, just in case any are foolish enough to try to break in."

Ichigo frowned slightly and she mistook his expression for confusion.

"You haven't heard the stories about your house?"

"Some of them, but not in detail," he paused, "what exactly do these stories say?"

Her eyes lit up. "Are you sure you want me to tell you on Halloween of all nights?"

Ichigo chuckled. "I'm a big boy; I can handle it." He motioned for her to sit, but she declined.

"I can't stay too long; the kids are anxious to go trick-or-treating. The story about fifteen Morrison... well, long ago it used to belong to the owner of a coal mine, but they were a really snobby, too-good-for-everyone-else kind of bunch. The trouble began with one of their servants, a young man who was about to get married to the love of his life, was accused of stealing one of the mistress' rings. The poor man was hunted down for all he was worth and his fiancée was murdered by the master's son and when he tried to seek revenge he was murdered as well. They say that his ghost still haunts the house, seeking revenge for his wife."

Ichigo blinked. "That sounds terrible; does he go after everyone who sets foot in the house?"

She shrugged. "It's just an old story, although I can't say anyone has spent more than six months in that house."

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck. Of course, it was just an old story. A cold shiver ran down his spine.

"Anyway, it was nice meeting you, Ichigo, so sorry I couldn't stay longer."

He shook her hand again before she turned to leave.

"And happy Halloween."

He swallowed. "Yeah, happy Halloween."

He took another sip of his coffee, but he found that his stomach was churning uncomfortably. He set it aside, unsure if he could finish it. So, there was a founded ghost story behind the house, well maybe not founded, but it was enough to make him uneasy. It couldn't have been a coincidence; there was definitely something supernatural in the house; why couldn't it have been this servant ghost? Shit, he needed to get Toushiro out of there, going by last night, they were in danger. He ran his hands down his face and sighed deeply; of course he had to buy the haunted house. He should have seen the signs; the price really had been too good to be true. But... but maybe this really was all in his head; it was just a story, a joke, something that teenagers passed around in the spirit of Halloween. A ghost, really? He shook his head; it was ridiculous; Toushiro had to have been pulling himself across the bedroom... by one of his feet.

He chewed the inside of his cheek, this was all too weird, and not the good, thrilling kind of weird. Ichigo was scared. After the ordeal last night, he hadn't been able to sleep. He had held his trembling husband, heart pounding and cold sweat dripping down his back.

"Mr. Kurosaki-Hit... Hit-su..."

Ichigo nearly jumped, but managed force himself to smile and extend his hand to the realtor – he was sure it was her this time – as she sat down in the seat across from him.

"Thanks for meeting me on such short notice."

She didn't look too happy. "Yeah, well, you threatened to sue... so what can I do for you?"

Straight to business, huh? Ichigo couldn't say that he didn't mind. "My house's previous owners what happened to them? Why did they decide to sell for so little?"

She pursed her fire-engine red lips. "I'm really not at liberty to disclose such information..."

"Well, as the current owner, I have a right to know if they were freaking murdered where I'm sleeping. Now, I can either call my lawyer, or you can tell me what's up."

She narrowed her eyes, but bowed her head and bent to talk out a thin folder from the briefcase at her feet. "Are you sure you need to know this? Yes, there's a reason why the asking price was so low."

"I knew it-"

"The family wanted to leave as quickly as possible; they didn't care if the house was sold, they just wanted to leave."

"Why?"

She pretended to read the file for a few minutes, but Ichigo could tell that she was staling and very uncomfortable. "There was a... situation, but it has nothing to do with the house itself. The... the wife went crazy; she chewed off one of her fingers and..."

"And?" Ichigo prompted when she fell silent.

"...And she murdered her husband."

Ichigo blinked in disbelief and fell against his chair's backrest.

"It was nothing to do with the house itself," she insisted, "It seemed that her family had a long history of mental illness."

Ichigo narrowed his eyes; people didn't go crazy just like that. The human brain was strange and impressive, but if had learnt anything from his dad, it was that there was always a cause for mental illnesses. "Do you have contact information for the rest of the family... if there's-"

She sighed, "I can't give you-"

"I just have a few questions about the house itself. I want to know if they had them too."

"So, this is definitely about the house then? Do you want to sell, because I can't guarantee that there will be anyone else willing to buy, and, of course, you won't get your money's worth for it."

"No, we're not selling... yet." He picked up his coffee, it had gone cold and he wasn't going to finish it, but he needed something to do with his hands. "What about the owners before them?"

"I... I don't have too much information about them. But _this_ I'm not at liberty to discuss; our company has rules and for the security of our clients we can't just freely give out information."

Ichigo huffed, "What if I said this was harmless? That it was for a book I'm writing? I'm not looking to harass them; I just want to get a few facts straight."

"You're writing a book?" she seemed sceptical.

"As a matter of fact, I am. What can I say; old houses with history inspire me."

"But you just said that there was a problem with the house and you were considering suing."

"Would you really have come here to talk to me about writing a book?"

"I suppose not," she sighed, shaking her head, "You authors are insane." She picked up a napkin from the holder in the middle of the table and scribbled a few numbers then folded it and handed it to him. It was remarkable how people's opinion on him changed completely when they found out that his snooping was for a book.

His grin must have been convincing, because she smiled back. "I'll make sure to make this little town famous."

She nodded. "I'll look forward to reading about it."

He slipped the napkin into his back pocket as he left the coffee shop. He should get back to Toushiro before dark, if he had left work early then something was seriously wrong, but he had to make a few stops first. From all the books and TV shows he had seen, he recalled that salt and iron made good weapons against ghosts. He was going back into a haunted house and he was going to be prepared.

* * *

**Now Ichigo's in on the ghost's little secret, kinda, there's totally more to come. And to all who thinks that's the all we're gonna hear of the fight then, wait for it. **

**Review are always welcome. **

**-Mymomomo **


	9. For All the Unbelievers

Toushiro was a bit shaken up from the night before. Waking up with something clamped around their ankle and being dragged halfway across the room would have most people on edge. He hadn't slept at all last night as a result, and had struggled to get himself to work that morning. Even after three cups of coffee he still felt like he was going to drop any second. He had been reluctant to leave Ichigo that morning, but he couldn't call in sick just because he had been too scared to sleep last night. He yawned, almost popping his jaw, as he sat at his desk and turned on his computer; he was definitely going to need at least two more cups of coffee if he was going to make it through the day. It was Halloween, and he had been warned that students tended to act out a bit; whether it was a prank taken too far or inappropriate costumes.

But, admittedly, he was more worried about something else. He could not shake the memory of last night; he had been dragged across the bedroom. Physically moved. He had a bruise on his leg, Ichigo had been yelling, it hadn't been a dream or a hallucination. Toushiro didn't know whether he was supposed to be relieved that he possibly wasn't going crazy or not. But then, what the hell had really happened? Weird things had been going on in the house since day one, but what could possibly be behind them? There were no such things as ghosts; it had to have been another hallucination; it had to be. He had imagined that Ichigo had reacted and that he had been pulled onto the floor. The bruise on his ankle was a figment of his imagination too. Maybe he was schizophrenic? It seemed like a reasonable explanation; it was just his mind playing tricks on him; none of it was real. But, how much of it wasn't real? He shuddered and ran his hands up and down his arms, wondering when his office had gotten so cold. He glanced up at the air vent on the tiled ceiling almost expecting to see condensation pour out.

A knock on his door almost caused him to jump and he swivelled his chair to face the entrance.

"Toushiro?" Rachel asked, sliding into the room with two steaming, Styrofoam cups. She handed one to him and took a sip from the other. "You do know you're allowed to use the coffee maker in the staff lounge, right?"

Toushiro accepted the cup with a soft thank you.

"You looked a little tired when you came in, thought you could use a pick-me-up."

He winced, thinking about how ragged he must look. "It was a... strange night; I didn't sleep all that well."

Rachel smiled sympathetically. "I hear you; the six-year-old was too excited about Halloween to go to bed, ended up waking up the other two."

Toushiro shook his head with a small smile, fighting down the slight pang in his chest. "What are they dressing up as this year?"

"Emily's going as Dracula, Aiden's a dinosaur, and Hannah wanted to be a princess."

"Cute."

"They really are, almost makes you forget what little terrors they are normally," she glanced at her watch, "bell's gonna ring soon; I'll see you for lunch. Oh, by the way, there's a rumour that we're having cupcakes, so try not to work through your break this time, or I'll have to come get you."

He nodded. "I'll try."

As she left, he noticed that her skirt was lined with small pumpkins and he briefly wondered how seriously the staff took Halloween. Should he have worn something more festive? He sighed softly; dressing up had been the furthest thing from his mind that morning. He had left the house rather hastily and had only remembered that it was Halloween when he got into town and saw all the decorations. Well, this wouldn't be the first time he would feel out of place. He shook his head and turned to his computer, eager to get to work and push everything else to the back of his mind for a while. He felt a bit queasy and his ankle was throbbing slightly; he needed something to distract himself.

Toushiro didn't realise how much time had passed, even if he wasn't concentrating on his work like he normally would. He had tried, but soon after the first bell rang he felt a headache start to build behind his left eye. And for some reason he still couldn't shake the uneasy feeling from last night; he felt as if something was watching him, standing right behind him and watching his every move. He almost swore that he felt cold breath on the back of his neck. Several times he had actually looked over his shoulder, but, of course, there was nothing behind him except a fake potted plant and a filing cabinet. Still, his skin prickled, his stomach churned, and something felt inexplicably wrong. He took a short break to rest his eyes for a minute and he rubbed his temples to abate the headache. The coffee hadn't helped with his exhaustion at all, and with the increased dosage of his medication he felt even drowsier. How was he supposed to make it through the rest of the day?

This time the knock on his door did make him jump. He opened his eyes and saw a strange reflection on his darkened monitor. He blinked and swallowed staring at the spot just above his shoulder; there had definitely been a face there, a dark face with hollow eye sockets and a gapping mouth. He took a few deep breaths and tried to calm himself; it was just his imagination. He focused on his own face and brushed his hair from his forehead as a group of girls in extremely short, frilly skirts were lead in by an irate teacher. He attempted to steel his face as he looked away from the monitor, but the shadow appeared again in his peripheral vision and he felt his heart begin to hammer against his chest.

The teacher immediately began to explain the situation; that being that the girls were inappropriately dressed, but Toushiro didn't hear anything; he frantically tried not to appear as panicked as he felt.

Lunch came sooner than he expected, but for once he was eager to leave the solitude of his office for the noisy staff lounge. He sat a small table with Rachel and three other teachers, trying his best to swallow the whole-grain pasta salad Ichigo had made for him. He tired to ignore the way a few of the teachers were staring at his trembling hands, but ended up setting down his fork and hiding his hands under the table. He wasn't that hungry anyway.

Rachel glanced over to him and tilted her head. "Are you done already?"

"Are you on a diet?" the eleventh grade music teacher asked, looking at his half-eaten meal. "You always have such healthy lunches."

Toushiro shook his head. He was the last person who should be on a diet. "No, this is just what my husband makes-"

He was cut off by a soft coo. He rolled his eyes internally, reminded of the reason why he avoided the staff lounge. He was still treated like a novelty item; every time he mentioned Ichigo or said the word 'husband' he was met with gentle smiles and soft sighs which he was sure no one else received at the mention of their spouse.

"He makes your lunch?"

"He usually does the cooking."

"That's sweet. I wish I could get Michael to..."

Toushiro stopped listening and snapped the lid back on his Tupperware bowl and leaned away from the table. He always felt uncomfortable with these kinds of conversations; he was never sure what to say and he hated when his marriage was compared to traditional ones. It was awkward for everyone involved when they hinted at gender stereotypes. Once he had been asked straight out who was the 'woman' in the relationship. He rubbed his temples; his headache had not disappeared and all this loud, incessant chatter was not doing much to help.

"Are you alright, Toushiro?" Rachel asked.

He looked at her and tried his best to smile. But instead of focusing on her face he found himself staring at a blurry figure, looming over her shoulder. He had opened his mouth to speak, but his words died in his throat. There was something behind her, a figure, a very detailed shadow, and it smiled at him. He jolted backwards; his heart racing and his stomach tumbling clumsily. The figure then vanished like a wisp of smoke and Toushiro was left gaping.

"Toushiro?"

He mumbled something about needing to use the bathroom and rushed from the room. He was going crazy. The hallucinations at night, at home, were one thing, but at work? He nearly ran down the hallway to one of the staff bathrooms, almost bowling into a few students and ignoring the way they looked at him. Minutes later he was hunched over a sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. That was it; he was going insane, seeing faces in shadows and shadows where they didn't belong. He took a few deep, shuddering breaths, but that only served to make him even more nauseated. The new dosage was helping his mood, but the side effects seemed to have gotten worse. He shook his head and turned on the cold water to splash his face a few times. He needed to calm down; he wasn't going to get through the rest of the day like this.

He closed the tap after a few minutes, keeping his eyes shut, and concentrated on the water dripping off the tip of his nose. It was all in his head; he couldn't let it get to him like this. It was just some stupid ghost story; it didn't deserve his attention at all.

But, if he had more important things to think about, why did he feel cold fingers at the back of his neck? He jumped and his spine straightened unnaturally. His eyes flew open, but he forced them shut again as quickly as he could. This wasn't happening now, it couldn't be; he was at work, damnit, he had no time for this. He breathed deeply, trying to will the hands away, but nothing happened except his heart starting to beat frantically as the hands travelled upwards and began to stroke his hair. He ground his teeth and tried to concentrate on something else. He couldn't. He _couldn't_; his world had been narrowed down to just the rough, ice-cold fingers and brittle, flaky nails that dug into his scalp and pulled his hair.

Of all things he could hallucinate about, why this? He breathed sharply through his nose as the one of the hands made its way along his jaw then along his neck and collarbone. The other held his wrist, loosely at first, but when he pulled away it clamped down painfully. He swallowed a whimper and pushed himself into the edge of the sink when a much larger, solid, cold, and smelly body pressed into his. He smelt rotting eggs and everything went cold.

It wasn't real, Toushiro told himself firmly. If he opened his eyes there would be nothing there. It was all in his head. Still, his heart thudded and his stomach churned signifying that his body was panicking even if he was trying to reason with himself. All he had to do was open his eyes and he would prove that it was all in his head. It was a chore to crack them open, a part of him was scared that he would, once again, see a shadowy face behind him, but the larger, more rational part won. He held his breath as he opened his eyes. A strangled scream escaped his throat a second later. He jolted forward, knocking his hips against the porcelain sink and his forehead against this mirror. It wasn't... it wasn't... something was actually there. Toushiro began to hyperventilate as his eyes met a pair of cloudy, blood-shot pupils in the mirror. He stood petrified as a jagged fingernail began to twist his wedding band around his finger, the smooth metal easily sliding against his skin almost burning cold into his flesh. A decaying hand with black nails made its way back up his neck and ran across his cheek. And for some reason he found himself shaking his head, as if begging the apparition to stop; his mouth formed the words. When the nail nicked his bottom lip his vision grew wet and he screwed his eyes shut. He was going to vomit; he was –

"Oh my god, Toushiro, are you alright?"

Rachel flew into the bathroom, and the apparition was gone. He took a shuddering breath, but his mouth was already full of bile and the remnants of his meagre lunch. He blindly scrambled into a stall and retched. Only when he had nothing else to vomit he realised that he was sobbing. He was sobbing and someone was soothingly stroking his back. He tried his best to pull himself together, wiping his face with the back of his hand and forcing himself to stand. He leaned against the side of the stall as the floor refused to stay still.

"Toushiro, are you okay? Should I call a doctor?" Rachel asked, still rubbing his back.

He shook his head. "No. I... I... I think I should go home."

...

It was as if all energy had been zapped from Toushiro's body. His feet felt like lead and his eyelids were even heavier. He sighed heavily as he loosened his tie and flopped onto his bed, for once relishing the frigid temperature of the house; it soothed his headache somewhat. Thankfully, the nausea had abated soon after he left work, but the image of the apparition, the demon or whatever it was, was stuck in his mind. He shuddered as he curled around a pillow and tried his best to forget it. Yet, all he could see were the cloudy, bloodshot eyes; they had followed him home. He buried his face in his pillow and tried to think of something else.

Ichigo wasn't home; his truck wasn't in the driveway. A tiny part of Toushiro was glad that he didn't have to explain why he had come home early, but he needed his husband. He wanted him to wrap his arms around him and tell him that everything was going to be alright and that he wasn't really going crazy. Maybe it would be worth calling him, but his phone was so far away on the dresser and he didn't have the energy to get up. He sighed again, feeling sleep overcome him. At least he was picturing Ichigo's face when he drifted off.

...

Toushiro woke to the smell of something rotting and he groaned softly cracking open his eyes. The room was in complete darkness; the sun had long set and it seemed like Ichigo wasn't back yet to turn on any lights. He groggily sat up and ran a hand through his hair; he still felt drowsy and slow as if parts of his body were still trapped in a dream. He swung his legs onto the floor debating on whether to get up and turn on the lights or just go back to sleep. He should turn on some lights though, so that Ichigo wouldn't arrive home to darkness. He yawned as he stood up and shuffled to the doorway, sniffing as the pungent smell grew stronger. What had died? He covered his nose with his hand; it got stronger as he left the master bedroom. Had an animal got trapped in one of the other rooms? He flicked on the hallway light and padded down, following his nose. The scent was the strongest at the far end of the hallway; it seemed to be coming from...

Toushiro froze; he hadn't been in this room for over two months, not since that night he had first started to hallucinate. Slowly, he turned around. He would ask Ichigo to investigate later; a draft seemed to be coming from under the door and the smell wafted up. As he headed to the stairs, a tingling in his spine was all the warning he got before a pair of cold arms encircled his waist. Toushiro leapt forward, swearing.

No, not again. His stomach clenched instantly and he bit his bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed. It wasn't real. The arms tightened around him and he was slowly dragged backwards, watching helplessly as the door the back room creaked open. The light from the hallway seeped into the room, but the warm orange was only superficial, the room felt like a walk-in freezer. Toushiro's breath condensed in front of his face in rapid puffs and as he glanced around. Recognising partially dismantled furniture, his chest seized and he couldn't breathe. He would have gone tumbling to his knees if the arms hadn't been holding him so tightly. Bones dug painfully into his stomach and crushed his ribs. He let out a soft, broken whimper and tried his hardest to escape from the grip. He needed to get out of this room, he couldn't stay in here; he was crazy enough as it was. He planted his shaky legs as best as he could and struggled to free himself.

Then suddenly the world spun for a minute and his feet left the ground. He found himself shoved against the window, drapes billowing around him and cold, cold hands pinned him to the glass by his shoulders. A man with grey- green, rotting skin and milky eyes towered over him and smiled through brown, crumbling teeth while a trickle of black, clotted blood oozed from the corner of his mouth and rolled down his chin and neck. Toushiro tried to swallow, but his throat had closed up; he couldn't breathe and his vision started to swim. He felt faint; his knees grew weak. A shrivelled, putrid finger traced his cheek and he closed his eyes, recoiling from the touch and whimpering. It was a hallucination, but it was so real; his skin burned with cold and itched as if there were insects in his very nerves. The finger on his cheek turned into a rough palm that cupped the side of his face and a thick, sticky substance leaked from its missing ring-finger causing Toushiro to gag hoarsely.

"Stop," he muttered to himself, "stop, no. Not this-"

His words ended in a sharp hiss when the palm curled, and nails dug into his cheek. His eyes flew open and in a moment he was brave enough to reach out and grip the wrist to force it from his face. It didn't move a centimetre and Toushiro knew, right then, that things had gone from bad to worse. Something flashed across the man's eyes, something sinister, and the hallway light flickered. He screamed as he was thrown to the middle of the room. He landed hard on his back and immediately scrambled to his feet, tripping in an effort to get to the door. It slammed shut, the sound echoing hollowly around the room and the only source of light was cut off. A series of thuds and crashes sounded from both inside the room and the hallway. He heard wood splinter and break as pieces of furniture threw themselves into the walls and floor. The overhead light flickered weakly before shattering and raining splinters of glass around him. Toushiro's breath was loud in his ears and he glanced around frantically for the man. He found him when he was yanked back by his hair, his head snapped backwards and he found himself blubbering.

"Stop-"

He was shoved back to the window and he only prevented himself from cracking his skull open by grabbing onto the curtains. A blow to his back made his knees give out and he tumbled to the floor with a cry. The curtains came with him in a flurry of fabric and a crack as the rod came free, one of the brackets breaking. It all happened in a matter of seconds; the rod swung down, passing through the man like he was smoke and he disappeared with a menacing grimace. Toushiro was stunned, but he wasted no time in getting out of the room. He scrambled to his jelly-like feet and tripped a few times as he ran down the hallway. The hall light had gone out, but that didn't even register in Toushiro's mind. He needed to get out of the house. He thudded down the stairs, roughly wiping tears and snot from his face. He needed to get out; he didn't care where he went. He would run down the street for all he cared. He was mere metres away from the front door; his fingertips brushed the knob, and he was pulled back. He let out a terrified scream, thrashing, kicking, and punching thin air as he was carried back to the stairs.

He screamed, voice cracking, and a new wave of tears ran down his face. His leg connected with something as they reached the bottom step and either the man didn't except him to fight back or he had kicked him much harder than he had thought because he dropped him. Toushiro broke his fall with his forearms and scrambled, on his hands and knees, to the door. He hadn't gotten very far when his neck was crushed in a vice-like grip. He choked, scratching at the hands, as he was once again dragged backwards. He was forced onto his back, kicking weakly and fading fast. The man straddled his waist and tightened his hold. Toushiro gasped, saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth. His chest heaved, but not even the smallest amount of oxygen made it past the man's – monster's – hold. Toushiro felt like his head was going to pop from his neck, like a broken doll. He could feel blood pooling, trapped, behind his eyes and in his ears and all he could hear was a loud ringing noise.

Toushiro blinked, trying to focus on the man above him. He swam in and out, a malevolent, malodorous, malignant monster and he smiled widely. The bottom half of his face opened into a gapping, black hole. Toushiro's vision slowly turned grey and his hands fell to the ground. He couldn't fight; he was going to die, killed by a figment of his insane mind. His eyes fluttered shut and his head lolled to the side. Then there was a great whooshing noise from above him that was loud enough to permeate the ringing in his ears. He could breathe, air rushed into his lungs so quickly that it caused him to cough and then choke again for a few moments before he blacked out.

When he came to, what felt like seconds later, he immediately tried to roll over to side only to find that he couldn't; a pair of strong arms prevented his from going anywhere and he panicked, crying out and thrashing.

"Shiro, calm down; it's me," he heard distantly, like someone was calling him from a different room. His senses returned bit by bit, first the ringing in his ears faded then his vision cleared.

"Hey, it's me. You're okay, baby, I got you," Ichigo crooned, cradling him to his chest.

Toushiro blinked, trying to make sense of everything. His mind was cloudy, thoughts scattered, and there was a faint pounding in his head. His throat was on fire and he coughed weakly. "Wha-" it hurt to talk; he cut himself off with a grimace.

"Shhh," Ichigo murmured, running a gentle hand across his forehead, "it's okay, you're safe now. It can't get us here."

Toushiro frowned. "You... you saw it?"

Ichigo pressed a glass of water to his lips, ignoring his question. Toushiro managed a few sips before coughing. Ichigo patted his back softly. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he lied, despite that he knew Ichigo could feel him shaking and that his head was pounding and he felt woozy, drowsy, and confused all at the same time. But there were more important things to worry about than his health. What had happened to the monster? He remembered blacking out. Had Ichigo come home to him passed out on the floor? And what was he talking about him being safe?

"Are you sure?" Ichigo asked, "I mean, that thing nearly asphyxiated you."

"What?" Toushiro croaked. Had Ichigo seen it? Hadn't he been hallucinating?

"You don't remember?"

"You saw it too? I'm not- I'm not going crazy?" For some reason Toushiro felt himself tear up again.

"No, no. No, baby, well... if you're crazy then I am too. You thought that you were going insane? Shiro, no, you're not. You're getting better, remember. And I'm here with you; we can talk about anything. You're not going crazy."

Toushiro took a deep breath. "Then what was that?"

Ichigo hesitated for a minute. "A ghost, I think. It reacted like how it should have to iron... and I found out a bit more about the house's history-"

"A ghost?"

"What else would it be? The house is haunted, don't tell me you didn't suspect anything weird going on? You were dragged out of bed last night; there were marks on your ankle. And just now? I saw it! I know you're sceptical about the supernatural, but, babe, something is going on."

Toushiro swallowed thickly only to wince and rub his throat. He was sceptical; ghosts didn't exist. Sprits, demons, and whatever were just myths. But, if Ichigo was also aware of the monster-man, then he couldn't be hallucinating, could he? He sighed and rested his head against his husband's chest.

"Where are we?" he asked, looking around the unfamiliar room.

"The Abarais. I told them that our house was creepy on Halloween and they took pity on us."

Toushiro shook his head and attempted to crawl off of Ichigo's lap, but a wave of dizziness kept him in place. He groaned softly and pressed his fingertips to his temples.

"Shiro-"

"I'm fine." He paused, huffing, "okay, I'll play along; so, if this is a _ghost_... what do we do about it? We can't stay with the Abarais forever."

"I picked up a few iron pokers and salt, lore says that salt and iron keeps them away."

"How-"

"Research. Don't worry; I'm going to keep us safe, I swear."

Toushiro nodded, thinking that maybe, possibly having hallucinations would be the slightest bit preferable to a haunting.

* * *

**Technically**** it still is Thursday... **

**Reviews are welcome.**

**-Mymomomo**


	10. Precautionary Matters

**Sorry for the week's delay; I had a disgusting case of writer's block**

* * *

Ichigo's hands shook as he clutched the staring wheel of his truck, nails digging into the black vinyl; he didn't care if he ruined the upholstery. He hadn't thought twice when he swung the poker hard enough to kill. He hadn't even thought of the consequences. A man was suffocating his husband; there was only one course of action. He hadn't taken the time to assess the situation; he had just reacted. Toushiro was turning blue on the ground; his hands were weakly scrabbling at the wooden floor as a beast of man pinned him to the ground by his neck, and Ichigo had seen red. Something incredibly protective had risen up inside of him and he swung the iron poker as hard as he could. He had expected to meet the back of a skull to hear a thud or a crack, but the man had dissipated into the air like a wisp of smoke, leaving Toushiro to gasp and cough weakly. His next instinct was to get the hell away from the house. He grabbed his husband and hightailed it out of there, kicking the front door shut and not looking back.

Now, he was driving along the road that lead into Rayle without actually paying attention. He wasn't quite sure what to think, actually, and the empty road was the least of his worries. He had been humouring himself, the part that believed in the supernatural, when he had bought all the salt and iron pokers. He had hoped that a logical explanation would have reared its head sooner or later. But as he glanced to his unconscious husband in the passenger seat his throat grew bone dry and his stomach tilted back and forth. It had undeniably been a ghost or something of the like. He shivered slightly, pulling over to the grassy shoulder and resting his forearms against the wheel as he let the engine idle. How was this even happening? A ghost, a real live ghost was haunting their house. The more he said it the more ridiculous it sounded. Yet, he couldn't deny the deep purple bruising around Toushiro's neck. He reached out a finger to stroke this discoloured skin, thankfully feeling a strong, steady pulse beating underneath. He was breathing too, deeply and evenly, so Ichigo wasn't terribly worried about his physical state. He was worried about everything else, however.

What were they going to do? Could they call someone? Wasn't there a show about people who hunted ghosts, 'ghost hunters' was it? But no, the last thing he needed was to create a spectacle; Toushiro had nearly died. He needed to think of a way to get rid of it; there had to be away. The iron seemed to work and he needed to try the salt. He shook his head, was he really thinking of ways to defend himself against a _ghost_. This was the stuff his stories were made of, well not really; he hadn't done any horrors before. He paused; that's what this was, a horror story.

"Oh Shiro," he mumbled softly, brushing a lock of light hair from his husband's forehead, "What have we gotten ourselves into this time?"

They had been through quite a bit, but this took the cake. Never before had they been frightened for their lives. Ichigo continued to stroke Toushiro's thick hair as a few muscles in his face twitched gently. His hands were shaking slightly; he was still frightened and for a split second Toushiro's lips turned blue, his skin was almost grey, the bruises on his neck transformed into bloody ligatures, and he stopped breathing. His head lolled on his shoulder and his beautiful teal eyes were open, bloodshot, unseeing, and lifeless. Ichigo took a deep breath, shaking his head to clear this image. Toushiro wasn't dead; he wasn't going to let him die.

"I'm going to protect you, I swear," he whispered, leaning over to press his lips to Toushiro's temple.

He drove around Rayle for almost a full hour, unsure what to do. They couldn't go back home, not with that thing there. But nowhere was open at ten o'clock on a Tuesday night, even on Halloween; he had been the last person in the home and garden store when he bought the iron pokers. Besides it wasn't like he could carry Toushiro anywhere without arousing any questions. He had topped up on gas and circled the network of streets at least five times. Toushiro showed a few signs of waking up, but didn't seem to be able to shake the hold of unconsciousness just yet. Ichigo was about ready to park in a vacant lot and spend the night there when his phone rang.

Rukia invited them over to watch a few scary movies, apologising for the last minute invite. Ichigo couldn't drive fast enough. It had been a little tricky to explain Toushiro's state without the Abaris noticing that he was unconscious, but he told them that Toushiro had been feeling off and would probably sit the first movie out. Renji not so subtly narrowed his eyes while Rukia offered the guest room to let him rest. Ichigo quickly realised that he had to set up a few boundaries with Renji.

Renji snorted loudly as Ichigo led Toushiro into the living room to join them for the second movie after they had a short talk about what had happened earlier.

"How was your nap, princess?" Renji asked, receiving a well-deserved elbow in the ribs from Rukia.

Toushiro raised an eyebrow and hesitated before uncomfortably sitting down. Ichigo glared at Renji, wrapping an arm around Toushiro's shoulders and handing him one of the blankets that were strewn across the couch.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" Rukia asked brightly.

Toushiro cleared his throat. "Tea would be nice, thank you-"

"There are drinks right there in front of you." Renji waved his arm at the coffee table, which held a few bottles of coke, beer, a half- empty bottle of wine, and various bowls of snacks.

Toushiro tensed and stared at Renji for a minute. Ichigo knew that he wouldn't argue with someone in their own house, but he would be hearing about this later.

Rukia broke the edgy silence as she stood up and stepped over Renji's legs to head to the kitchen. "He can't drink alcohol; you know that, idiot," she snapped at her husband and mumbled a few profanities in Japanese. Ichigo had to hide a snicker, pleased that she knew the language and that Renji seemed to have no idea what she had said.

"Well he can have coke-"

"We have black tea, green, chai... or would you prefer something without caffeine?"

"Green tea would be fine, thanks," Toushiro mumbled, twisting a corner of this blanket around his fingers.

Ichigo squeezed his shoulders and continued to glare at Renji, begging him to stop. Renji huffed, folded his arms across his chest, and leaned back into the couch. He didn't make any more remarks afterwards, but the next couple of movies were unnecessarily tense and it wasn't thanks to Jamie Lee Curtis. He was quiet when Rukia suggested that they spend the night since it was so late, but didn't look too happy about it. Ichigo decided that he would confront his friend tomorrow and quietly thanked Rukia when they were alone tidying up the living room. He spoke in Japanese, thrilled that he finally had someone to talk to. Rukia seemed to be just as happy as he was, even though she was fervently apologising for Renji.

"I'm so sorry about that," she muttered, speaking so quickly that Ichigo almost didn't understand. "I hope Toushiro wasn't too offended."

Ichigo shook his head. "It's probably my fault; I shouldn't have vented to him. I just didn't think Renji would take everything I said to heart and judge Toushiro."

"He's looking out for you. He's a complete idiot, but in his head he's doing the right thing." She set a folded blanket neatly on the couch's arm rest. "We should get some rest now; tomorrow is going to be a long day. And Renji doesn't really like when he's excluded from the conversation like this."

Ichigo chuckled, "He doesn't speak Japanese?"

"No, his parents didn't teach him because they thought he'd be discriminated against. It's a pity; it would be nice to have something that's all our own."

"I understand that; Toushiro doesn't speak it either."

Rukia tilted here head. "Isn't there a pretty large Asian community in California?"

"Yeah... but most of the younger generations only speak English; I forced my grandfather to teach me. Toushiro's family had been here long enough to be thoroughly mixed and he didn't have the best relationship with his parents either..."

She nodded and they began to head upstairs. "We should have more conversations like this; I only get to speak with my family ever so often."

Ichigo chuckled, "Just start and I'll follow."

She switched back to English to tell him goodnight. Ichigo went to bed feeling a little better than he had earlier and for the night he was able to forget about the ghost.

...

Their house was a complete mess when they returned home early the next morning. Ichigo drew in a sharp breath when he opened to front door; the living room and the foyer were trashed. Their meagre ornaments had been scattered across the floor, pictures were torn from their place on the mantle and walls, lamps knocked over and flickering. The large clock had been knocked over; its inner workings were littered across the room and the face had been smashed to bits, leaving small scars across the wood flooring.

Ichigo walked slowly around the room, holding his breath as shards of glass crunched under his shoes. The couch had been ripped open, stuffing leaking from gashes in the black leather and onto the floor. The television had been torn clear off its mount, wires straining against the bare wall. The screen was cracked in a series of spider web fractures and the plastic housing was missing in chunks.

Toushiro shook his head as ran his fingers along one of the rips in the couch; his face was a few shades paler than normal, causing the bruises to stand out even more. Ichigo's stomach turned and he found himself clenching his fists tightly.

"Do... do you think someone could have broken in?" Toushiro asked, even though they both knew the answer.

"Check the windows?" Ichigo replied, already scanning the glass. Apart for the ripped curtains the windows were untouched. The front door had been locked as well; no one had broken in. He swallowed thickly as he wrapped his arms around Toushiro. "Let's check the rest of the house?"

Toushiro took a deep breath and nodded. The living room was the only room damaged; the rest of the house was unscathed. Ichigo insisted that Toushiro let him clean up while he got ready for work. He swept up the glass and detached the cables from the television. He grumbled thinking of how much it was going to cost to fix all of this, but an ice-cold chill ran down his back and chased him into the kitchen where it wasn't as cold. He hunched over the island with his head in his hands. What were they going to do? The house was dangerous; they couldn't stay here. What would happen next? One of them could really end up seriously injured.

"Ichigo?" Toushiro called softly, as he entered the kitchen. His hair was still damp from his shower, his shirt was untucked, and his tie was crooked. He sat down on one of the stools around the island and brushed his hair from his face. "What happens now?"

Ichigo swallowed and straightened, going over to make coffee. "What do you want to do?"

Toushiro sighed heavily, "We can't move again."

"We could-"

"No. I'm not taking out a loan for another house when we just moved into this one. It's too expensive so soon. Besides, we'd have to sell this one and your family would start asking questions and I don't think they'd take too kindly to the idea that we're being attacked by a ghost. I don't even think that's a plausible reason for us to leave anyway."

"But it's dangerous; you nearly died last night, babe-"

"You made it disappear with that poker; we can defend ourselves somehow."

Ichigo sighed as the coffee maker began to hiss and the room immediately began to smell of the rich, warm grounds. He pulled out a carton of yogurt and some blueberries from the fridge and set them in front of Toushiro. They could defend themselves, but, he sighed loudly as he scooped a few spoonfuls of ground flaxseed and lecithin powder into a cereal bowl, how effective could Iron pokers and salt be against a ghost? He didn't want to be constantly on edge.

"We aren't even sure if it really is a _ghost_," Toushiro continued, peeling the lid off of the yogurt container.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow, pausing in the middle of pouring granola into the bowl. "Toushiro, have you seen your neck?" Even though his collar covered the worst of the bruises, they both knew that they were still there. "How else would we explain half the shit that's been going on in this house? Don't tell me that after all of this you're still trying to deny this?" He roughly slid the bowl across the marble countertop. It bumped into the blueberry carton and nearly knocked it to the floor.

Tousihro shook his head, "I'm not denying that it happened, but a _ghost_? It's impossible-"

"And yet, last night I swung a poker at a man's head and he dissipated, literally disappeared, into thin air. I know it doesn't seem plausible, but we can't explain this otherwise." He pulled up a stool and sat down, watching as Toushiro mixed the yogurt and blueberries into the bowl. "I'm going to do a bit more research on this, and hopefully be able to ghost-proof the house."

Toushiro nodded slowly. "I suppose I can ask around the staffroom, everyone seems to know something about this house that we don't."

"Yeah, I met Rachel, from your school, yesterday and she told me this story about some sort of servant wanting revenge. Maybe it's a widely known tale?"

Toushiro nodded again, scooping a spoonful of his breakfast into his mouth. "Aren't you going to eat?" he asked sending a pointed glare at Ichigo's lack of food.

"Later, gonna work out first. But yeah, see what you can find out at school and I'll do the same here."

Toushiro shovelled two more spoons into his mouth before moving to hop off the stool.

"Uh uh," Ichigo said, grabbing his shoulder, "you're gonna finish your breakfast before you go anywhere, mister."

Toushiro rolled his eyes. "I'm going to be late."

"Then you better hurry up."

Toushiro had been hesitant to leave Ichigo alone and made him promise to call if anything went wrong. Ichigo had acted brave in front of his husband, but the moment he left he went from room to room, brandishing the iron poker like a sword. He worked out constantly looking over his shoulder and showered with the poker in the stall with him. The ghost didn't show itself as Ichigo went about tidying the living room, but the temperature plummeted and Ichigo felt like he was being watched.

He normally would have put on music as he worked, but he wanted to be on high alert in case anything tried to sneak up on him. Once the living room was cleaned of all the broken glass, the television out on the curb, and he had tried to flip the couch cushions before deeming the whole thing irreparable and deciding to get a new one. In fact that was what he could do today; he was jumpy enough running from room to room and would feel better if he got out. After pushing the ruined couch out through the back door and taking quick measurements he jumped into his truck. He could probably get a few more things to make the house feel less empty while he was at it... and salt; they would be needing lots more salt.

...

That night Toushiro sat on the edge of the bed halfway through changing out of his work clothes and typing out a long text message to who Ichigo could only assume was his best friend, and personal menace, Rangiku. He had very few contacts in his phone. Ichigo sat down next to him on the bed and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him tightly against his side. Toushiro grumbled as his face was smushed into Ichigo's armpit.

"Let go of me, you oaf," he muttered, pushing away.

"How's Ran?"

"She's fine, complaining about her boss as usual."

Ichigo chuckled tightening his arms. "You need to relax, babe," he mumbled, noticing how tightly Toushiro was gripping his phone. He crawled onto the bed to kneel behind him, reached around him, and gently took one of his hands to knead the palm.

"Relax?" Toushiro snorted, turning his head to look at him. "How can I relax when we have a fucking ghost in our house?"

"I haven't seen it today. Have you?"

Toushiro shook his head with a short sigh as set his phone down on the nightstand. Ichigo let go of Toushiro's palm and moved to knead his shoulders. He _was_ scared, but they were alright, somehow, and that was what he was willing to focus on tonight. He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to the nape of Toushiro's neck.

"You're so tense," he muttered, pressing his fingertips into the tight muscle.

"I wonder why," Toushiro deadpanned.

Ichigo chuckled softly, "Come here."

He pulled Toushiro to the centre of the bed, making him lie on his stomach, and he massaged his back through his thin undershirt. Toushiro sighed softly as he closed his eyes. Ichigo smiled and pressed his palms into the small body. "Oh wait, I think we have some oil in the bathroom."

Toushiro cracked open an eye as Ichigo hopped off the bed. "Oil? You don't have to take it that far."

Ichigo was already halfway into the bathroom. "Nah, I'm going all out tonight."

"Fine, but don't expect me to return the favour."

Ichigo returned shortly with a small bottle of jasmine scented oil. He knew that it would come in handy some day and had placed at the back of one of the drawers. He jumped back onto the bed, immediately straddling his husband and rolling up his shirt.

Toushiro clicked his tongue, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the side. "Don't get any of that on the sheets."

"I won't use a lot," Ichigo said as he poured a liberal amount of oil onto his palms. It wasn't as if Toushiro did the laundry. He rubbed his hands together to warm the oil then smoothed them down Toushiro's back. He pressed his thumbs into the knotted muscles as Toushiro let out a long, deep sigh.

He worked out the muscles in his shoulders and moved along his ribs to the small of his back. Ichigo nearly chuckled at the fact that he could almost span one of his hands across Toushiro's waist. His back was devoid of any marks, no freckles, moles, or anything of the like, only shadows from the subtle dips and rises of his bones and a few fading bruises stood out against pale skin. He sighed internally; vowing to make sure Toushiro ate more. He was almost scared to flip him over and see the way his stomach sank inwards or his ribcage stuck out. He shook his head banishing such thoughts, yes he had lost a lot of weight, but he wasn't completely emaciated. His fingers reached the edge of Toushiro's waistband and stood up on his knees to slide his pants partially down his buttocks. Toushiro mumbled again and squirmed a bit, but flopped bonelessly back into the mattress as if too tired to protest much more than the bare minimum.

Ichigo chuckled, "Hey, don't fall asleep on me. This isn't all I have planned."

"'M not sleeping," Toushiro slurred, kicking one leg as if to prove his point.

"Take off your pants for me then."

Toushiro huffed but wiggled out of his slacks as Ichigo got off of him to retrieve the bottle of oil from the nightstand. He drizzled more onto his palms and stared down at his naked husband, not even bothering to hide his smirk. He had to; there was no other option than to grab Toushiro's butt and gently squeeze the taut cheeks. He had never had a round, perky butt. Even when he was at a more optimal weight it had always been on the flat side, but Ichigo loved it all the same. As long as it jiggled when he slapped it he was happy. It still jiggled. Ichigo almost sighed in relief, nearly leaning down to kiss it then and there.

"Is my ass particularly tense?" Toushiro huffed, propping himself up on his elbows and craning his neck to see what Ichigo was doing.

"Hmmm?" Ichigo didn't even look up.

"So you're just having fun then?"

Ichigo grinned, squeezing him again just for good measure. "I like your ass."

"I know." He rolled his eyes and buried his face into the sheets, allowing Ichigo to squeeze and prod to his heart's content. Or so he thought until, "Ichigo," Toushiro hissed in panic, propping himself back up on his elbows. A second later he jolted upright, scrambling to his knees and clutching the sheet to his chest.

Ichigo jerked back, following Toushiro's gaze as he stared at the doorway with wide, frightened eyes. He drew in a sharp breath, pulling his husband against him as he spied a shadowy figure standing in the doorway. The light from the bedroom barely illuminated the hallway, but he could just make out a pair of angry, bloodshot eyes and green-grey, decomposing skin. He shivered as it stared at them, opening its mouth showing off a blackened grin. He clutched Toushiro tightly to his chest, feeling his heart start to race and his stomach tightened as he prepared himself to fight it off. He quickly glanced around for the poker, cursing himself for not keeping it on hand, and spied it leaning against the night stand. He unwrapped one arm from around his husband and slowly began edging towards the nightstand. But Toushiro stopped him and clutched his wrists. They were completely silent as they watched the ghost snarl at them from the doorway and angrily pace from one side of the hallway to the other.

"Why isn't it..." Toushiro began softly as the lights flickered and a few doors further down the hall began to rattle.

"The salt," Ichigo breathed. He had poured a line across every doorway and window in the house after reading that ghosts couldn't cross over a line of salt. He had also drawn a ring around their bed, just in case.

Toushiro shuddered, tightening his grip on Ichigo's hands. "Is it just going to stay there?"

Ichigo gently kissed his neck, not taking his eyes away from the ghost. "It can't get to us, don't worry, babe."

Still, the lights dimmed and the doors rattled even louder. Ichigo's heart was hammering against his ribs and he could only pray that Toushiro couldn't feel it. The ghost snarled again, moving as if to leap into the room. Ichigo's whole body flinched, and he was ready to leap across the bed for the poker. Toushiro shouted and curled against him, however, causing him to stay in place.

"It can't come in," Ichigo repeated soothingly, eyeing the ghost as it slowly stalked backwards, disappearing into the shadows of the hallway. He let out a deep breath and wound his arms tightly around Toushiro. He breathed heavily through his nose and buried his face into his husband's hair. The scent settled him somewhat, but he still had to fight to calm his racing heart. "We're okay," he muttered more to himself than Toushiro.

Once he was sure that his knees weren't going to shake if he stood up, he slowly got off the bed and went to close the door. He grabbed the poker before peering out into the hallway for a brief second. He saw nothing but dark shadows and the outlines of the other doors and the staircase, and took a deep breath out of relief. He closed the door and locked it then leaned back against it switching the poker from one hand to the other. They were alright; it couldn't cross the salt, it couldn't get to them. They were safe.

Toushiro was staring at him from the middle of the bed, clutching the sheets with white knuckles.

"It's alright, baby," Ichigo breathed, pushing off from the door and sliding back onto the bed, "it can't get us in here."

Toushiro looked from him to the door and closed his eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. "Good. At least we know for sure that the salt works."

Ichigo watched his chest expand and deflate. He reached out to hug him, but he slipped under his arms and padded to the bathroom.

"I'm going to get ready for bed," he mumbled softly, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. Ichigo could see that goose bumps had formed all over his skin.

Ichigo sighed as he perched himself on the edge of the bed, watching as he opened the faucet and picked up his toothbrush, and decided that he should get ready for bed as well. He pulled off his shirt, pulled on a pair of sweat pants, and slipped under the covers. His stomach was still churning and he rolled onto his side, listening as Toushiro moved about in the bathroom. He re-entered the room a short while later, smelling of toothpaste and squinting as he shuffled over to the bed.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow as he pulled back the covers. "Are we sleeping nude tonight?"

"I thought you wanted to... were you done?" Toushiro frowned. A light pink began to dust his cheeks.

Ichigo tilted his head, slightly surprised that Toushiro was still open to having sex after what had just happened. He wasn't complaining, no, not at all, but Toushiro's sex drive had all but stalled to a complete stop with his medication. "No, I'm not done. But only if you want to."

Toushiro's smile was a bit awkward and he ducked his head as if trying to hide his face as he lay down next to Ichigo and pulled the sheets over them. "Who knows when either one of us is going to be killed by that thing," he mumbled, "Might as well..."

"Don't say that." Ichigo clicked his tongue, as he tilted Toushiro's face upwards. "I'm going to protect you."

Toushiro rolled his eyes. "My hero," he said dryly.

"Damn straight." Ichigo dipped his head downwards and captured Toushiro's lips. He was tense for a short while, as if the massage from earlier hadn't done anything for him, before he began to kiss back, allowing himself to meld into his husband as he pulled him closer.

Ichigo held him tightly, one arm around his shoulders and the other at the small of his back, as they kissed long and hard, breaths ragged, noses bumping. Toushiro reached up to cup the side of his face and nipped at his bottom lip. He pulled back and paused for a minute, taking in Toushiro's flushed cheeks and dilated pupils, then kissed him gently. Taking time to soothe the swelling lips with his tongue then languidly explore his mouth. Toushiro tolerated the change in tempo for a short while before he began to push back, roughly sucking on Ichigo's tongue and grazing his nails up and down his arms. Ichigo pulled away once more and slowly rubbed circles into Toushiro's back, watching as a small frown made its way onto his husband's face. Still, he crashed his lips into Ichigo's, intent on setting a rough, fiery pace.

Ichigo pulled away again, smirking gently as Toushiro huffed in annoyance. "I thought you wanted to fuck," he grumbled.

"No," Ichigo hummed, rolling onto his back and pulling Toushiro on top of him. Toushiro narrowed his eyes and sat upright, knees bent on either side of Ichigo's waist. Ichigo ran his palms up his thighs and settled on his hipbones. He was bony, so bony. He winced; glad that Toushiro's eyesight was bad enough that he couldn't make out his expression, as he rubbed his thumbs against his stomach.

"No?" Toushiro growled, folding his arms across his chest.

"I know what you're doing, Shiro, this isn't going to be a quick, hard fuck to make you forget everything. I know you're scared and I know you don't want to think right now, but I don't want that to be an excuse."

Toushiro snorted. "So what then? We just kiss and go to sleep?"

Ichigo shook his head. "No, I'm still gonna fuck you, but tonight," he ran his hands up Toshiro's sides, "tonight we're gonna make love."

Toushiro blushed crimson from the tips of his ears to his chest and Ichgio cupped the back of his head, gently bringing him down for a slow, tender kiss.

* * *

**But wait! There's more! ****If you wanna read the explicit alternate ending head on over to my tumblr (link in profile)**

**Also decided to not call the town 'the town' any more so welcome to Rayle, Wyoming :) **

**Reviews are always welcomed - read encouraged. **

**-Mymomomo**


	11. Collection

Toushiro called it digging, Ichigo preferred the term research, ever since he had first come across Ichigo so submerged in books and papers that he literally had to dig his way from one end of his shoebox apartment to the next. He was good at researching; he had to be. Most of his novels were historical crime stories; he had to be accurate, or everything would fall apart and he wouldn't have caught the eye of an up-and-coming movie producer. He liked details and dates; he liked uncovering mysteries of the past, deciphering inaccuracies, and drawing conclusions to debates. Uncovering the secret of the ghost that haunted the house at Fifteen Morrison Drive was going to be just as interesting as digging up information for one of his novels. Who knows, maybe it would be his next best seller? Ghost stories always translated nicely into horror movies as well. Though, Toushiro probably wouldn't take to kindly to hear that he was already thinking of turning their life into a story. He remembered one night, so very long ago, when he had caught Toushiro reading one of his manuscripts.

Ichigo had leapt across their small living room, tackling his boyfriend to the ground and reaching for the stack of papers. But, Toushiro was too quick. Even with Ichigo pinning him to the stained carpet he had managed to use his body to shield the manuscript.

"I told you that I'd show you when I was done," Ichigo had grumbled.

"I'll see that when I believe it," Toushiro replied, "This is nearly 300 pages and I have yet to hear a single word."

"It's private-"

"Private? You're not going to send it off to be published for the _entire world_ to read?"

"I..."

"You're ridiculous, Kurosaki." He had handed the manuscript back with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "I didn't get that far, anyway."

Ichigo sat down on his heels, letting Toushiro up, and stared down at the thick stack of papers in his hands. He had hesitated for a solid three minutes before asking, "What did you think of it?"

"I think you're really good, but I'm sure you already knew that."

Ichigo remembered smiling so widely that Toushiro had rapped his knuckles against the side of his head.

"But I would ask that you fix one thing," he snatched the manuscript back and leafed through a couple of pages. "Did you really turn me into a character?"

Ichigo had grinned sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck. "But you inspire me. The story won't flow the same without you. If you read ahead you'll see how important you are."

Toushiro rolled his eyes, but his entire face had turned red. "This isn't an autobiography, at least change my name."

Ichigo smiled briefly wondering why he had been so hesitant to share his work with Toushiro back then. He turned out to be a brutal editor, picking up on logic and character flaws that Ichigo had skimmed over. He spared no feelings when tearing apart Ichigo's first, second, and third drafts. But, even though he enjoyed Ichigo's stories he had always been a very private person; he didn't like that Ichigo had turned him into a character that just anyone could read about. He had been flattered that Ichigo had been inspired by him; even if he hadn't said it out loud, Ichigo could easily read him.

"What are you grinning at?" Toushiro huffed, as he tightened his neck tie and bent down to scan Ichigo's computer screen.

Ichigo leaned over to peck his cheek. "Nothing, I just remembered something."

Toushiro raised an eyebrow as he straightened to tuck his shirt into his slacks and buckle his belt. Ichigo closed his laptop and slid it onto the nightstand, before hopping out of bed and stretching. "I'll get the coffee ready," he said, grabbing the iron poker from the floor.

Toushiro nodded, "be careful."

Ichigo clenched the poker with both of his hands as he made his way downstairs. This was ridiculous; he shouldn't have to defend himself in his own house. The sooner they got rid of this ghost the better. He slunk into the kitchen, making sure not to disturb the line of salt that ran across the floor; he had drawn lines of salt from wall to wall in the areas he spent a lot of time in. They had seen the ghost in the hallway last night, so he knew that it couldn't have crossed the line and gotten into the kitchen. Still, he held the poker in his left hand as he went about preparing breakfast. Toushiro joined him a few minutes later, brandishing a poker of his own.

"I feel like I'm on a battlefield," he mumbled.

"We'll get rid of it soon, baby, don't worry." Ichigo set a mug of coffee in front of him and pecked him on his forehead.

...

Ichigo started in the same place he always did; the library. Finding out information on the internet was great and all, but there was something about feeling actual paper and ink between his fingers. He always retained more information when he read from a hard copy, rather than a screen. And any excuse to get out of the house was one he would take.

The public library was old and musty; it looked like it hadn't been refurbished since 1960. The carpet alone looked like it had more dust than the street outside. The fluorescent lights were harsh and glaring and the building was almost completely empty. He was surprised to see a row of computers set up against a wall. Grinning to himself, he took to the scouring the shelves, after giving the greying librarian a friendly nod. He had long since memorised the dewey decimal system and easily made his way to the public record section. He didn't expect to find anything of use as soon as he started, however, he wasn't even sure what he was looking for. He tapped his fingers against the shelf and chewed the inside of his cheek. Maybe he should have looked into the ghost story more. He only knew that the ghost was supposed to have been a servant of some sort. He wasn't sure what year this all took place. In that case, where should he start?

He ran his hands through his hair before shoving them into his back pockets. Okay, looking for a person was out of the question, but he knew that the house had to have been from day one. He could look up ownership records and home sales then go from there. The search was going to be tricky, he knew, but anything to get rid of the ghost was a start. It took him a while to sift through the dusty laminated documents to find what he was looking for. His fingertips were brown by the time he had found the yellowing file that held the documents about Fifteen Morrison. He took it to one of the scarred, mahogany tables that ran the centre aisle of the library and pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook from his bag.

The plot of land had originally been much larger than what it was now, but had been divided into three plots – numbers thirteen, fifteen, and seventeen – and sold when a land development company had decided to create an upper-class housing division, which did not quite classify as a suburb, or a separate town. The whole area had belonged to the owner of a coal mine, but the family had moved away after the mine had gone bankrupt, and there were no direct descendants living in Rayle or nearby towns. He took a few notes. At least that part of the ghost story was true, and a house of that size was bound to have a few servants. He definitely needed to find out more about the ghost story if he was going to move forward with his investigation. He scribbled down the original owner's name and a few of the more recent owners. He would find out if they too experienced any paranormals activities. He grinned at his pun – those movies were terrible, nothing at all like the real thing. If one thing was sure, however, he was going to be an expert on ghosts after this.

...

A week passed and Ichigo felt like he wasn't making any headway in his search. He had found out everything he could about the house's history; he knew the original owner as well as he knew himself. He had been an asshole, full of himself and hated by the community. He worked his employees to the point of death and paid them less than they needed to survive. It wouldn't have been a surprise that he treated his servants the same way. But it was next to impossible to find out anything about an unnamed servant. If there had been a murder in the house it hadn't been recorded.

He had found out in detail about the family that lived in the house before them; that murder had been recorded, as well as the one before; the young couple had been found dead by the maid. No wonder the house had been so cheap; its reputation was horrible. It had been empty for more than a year before Ichigo had bought it and now he was beginning to understand why. The more he learnt about the house the more he wanted to pack up and leave.

It didn't help that they could tell the ghost was getting restless at not being able to get to them. It had made its home in the upstairs hallway, unable to enter the master bedroom, kitchen, or basement. Ichigo had also drawn a circle around their new couch, but after he realised that it would stare at him while he worked, he quickly moved to the bedroom where he could close the door on it. They kept at least two iron pokers in every room and one on their person at all times. The cashier at _Home and Garden_ had eyed him suspiciously when he had nearly cleaned out their entire stock. And he was sure that the entire town thought he was a bit eccentric when he took to hunting down grave stones a few days prior. But, he could always pull his author card if things got too bad and all would be forgiven. He hoped.

He heard a muffled scuffle from the hallway and grabbed a poker, running to see what was going on. He caught a glimpse of the ghost as Toushiro swung his poker at it and his dissipated into thin air with a loud, gurgling growl. Toushiro was panting as he skirted past Ichigo and into the bedroom.

"Are you okay, Shiro?" Ichigo asked as his husband hunched over the bed.

"Yeah, fine. It just jumped me."

Ichigo sighed as he rubbed Toushiro's shoulders unsure if he was trembling because of his medicine or because he was frightened. "Did it-"

"No, I'm fine." He shrugged of Ichigo's hands and folded his arms across his chest. "I can defend myself, you know."

Ichigo held up his arms. "I didn't say you couldn't. I just wanted to know if you were hurt; I'm concerned."

"You shouldn't be-"

"I'm your _husband_; I _should_ be."

The ghost wasn't good for their nerves. Toushiro had been quite defensive lately, obviously on edge, and Ichigo found his patience wearing thin whenever he was snapped at.

Toushiro took a deep breath. "Right, sorry." He pushed his hair from his face and loosened his tie. "How was your day?"

Ichigo forced a grin to his face as he opened his arms to pull Toushiro into a hug. "I found out a bit more about the house... and that brick dust also wards off evil spirits."

Toushiro rested his cheek to Ichigo's chest and wrapped his arms loosely around his waist. "You haven't been spending much time here, I hope."

"How do you figure?"

"Because you're a big baby."

"I'm not; I'm sensible. But yeah, I've been spending a lot of time at the library and at the Abarais'." He didn't miss the way Toushiro tensed slightly. He chewed the inside of his cheek. "I spoke to Renji about how he acted the other night. That wasn't okay and he shouldn't speak to you like that again."

Toushiro sniffed. "What was that even about? I apologised to them and I don't think I did anything else to upset him."

Ichigo chewed the inside of his cheek, pretending to be thinking, but not wanting to tell Toushiro that he had vented to Renji. "Well... you did kick me out last month."

Toushiro narrowed his eyes, pulling away from the hug. "I didn't kick you out; you _left_."

"But you didn't let me come back."

"Oh, so you were waiting for my _permission_? The last time I checked, I didn't _let_ you do anything-"

Ichigo clicked his tongue, refraining from commenting on the literal meaning of Toushiro's sentence. "How 'bout we don't argue about this again? We already made up."

Toushiro deflated, rubbing his temples and sighing deeply. "Yeah, sorry."

They stood awkwardly facing each other for a second, before Ichigo invited Toushiro back into a hug. When Toushiro haltingly put his arms around his waist once more, Ichigo curled around his husband, burying his nose into his hair and holding him tightly.

He felt Toushiro take a deep breath. "Just don't expect me to go back over to the Abarias' anytime soon."

"But Rukia likes you-"

"Then she can come here."

"Really? We have a ghost. I mean it's an interesting house pet, but not one that I'd like to expose others to..."

Toushiro slapped his shoulder. "Shut up."

Ichigo grinned and bent down to kiss Toushiro's forehead. "Just give Renji another chance; I promise he's not all bad. Can't control his mouth, but he's a really good guy."

Toushiro sighed, "Okay, fine; I'll hold off judgement for now. But if he calls me princess again I'm not going to be the bigger person."

"If he calls you princess again, I'll kick him in the balls."

Toushiro chuckled. "I thought he was your friend."

"Yeah, but you're my _husband_; I get to have sex with _you_."

Toushiro rolled his eyes and playfully slapped his shoulder again. Ichigo responded by hoisting him up by his thighs. Toushiro squawked indignantly and pounded a fist weakly against Ichigo's chest.

"Don't do that," he growled but there was no venom in his words. Ichigo chuckled and kissed the tip of his nose. Toushiro hooked his arms around Ichigo's neck. "And you only get to fuck me when I say so."

...

Ichigo decided the next morning that he was going to search the house from top to bottom for any clues. He knew it had been refurbished, possibly countless times, but maybe if he looked hard enough he could find something. The streak of braveness had come while he was halfway through a set of pull-ups; there was no better time to potentially fight off a ghost than when adrenaline was already flowing. He finished his workout, grabbed his poker, and marched up the stairs. His first instinct was to start in the back room where strange things had first started happening. Thinking back to the first time he had been in the room, when they had just moved in, he was positive that the stain on the floor was blood. He paused, nearly missing a step and falling down the entire staircase, maybe he was being a little too drastic. But no, he needed to find out more about this ghost. Why it was attacking them and how to get rid of it. He realised that looking for one person, from so long ago without even so much as a name to place him, was going to be challenging. He was grasping at straws, thinking that there might be something to find in the house. If there had been, then it more than likely, would have been lost decades ago.

But, he needed something, if anything. So, he pushed open the door to the back room, gripping the poker tightly in anticipation of an attack and slunk in. The room was a mess. He had gotten halfway through packing up Ken's things a few months ago, but now the curtains had been ripped from the walls, one of the brackets hung loosely on its side. The boards from the dismantled bed were strewn across the floor, a few cracked and splintered. The mirror was broken as was the overheard light. Drawers were pulled out from the stand; small clothes were littered across the floor. Ichigo held his breath, what the hell had happened in here? He bent down and fingered a tiny polo shirt and his hand came away dusty. This must have happened some time back for this much dust to have settled on everything. He routinely cleaned the rest of the house while Toushiro was as work, but he had made a point not to touch this room.

Sighing, he manoeuvred his way through the mess, picking up a few boards and placing them against the wall. He shivered, sweat drying against his skin from his workout, as a chilly wind blew through the room. He jerked to attention, swinging the poker around, but there was no sign of the ghost. He shook his head. It had been getting colder these past few weeks. The tree leaves had long since turned orange and yellow and a permanent nippiness hung in the air. He had turned on the heat after noticing how much Toushiro was trembling one night, but even that didn't seem to help much and they had taken to sleeping with extra blankets. He chewed the inside of his cheek; if they didn't get rid of the ghost before winter they would more than likely freeze to death.

He ran his hands up and down his arms, looking around for any signs of the ghost. Only when he was sure that it wasn't going to attack him the moment he went back to clearing the floor. He bundled a few shirts and tossed them into an open drawer, trying to ignore the way his stomach clenched. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for. It wasn't as if he was going to find any secret passageways or hidden rooms. That would be ridiculous. But, he paused, imagine if he did. What if he came across an entire fortune of gold and silver coins or a one of a kind china tea set, or precious stones? They wouldn't have to worry about the ghost after that, they would have more than enough money to move again, maybe to an even bigger house with a pool. He found himself grinning and cleared his throat; now wasn't the time to get distracted. It was dangerous and he needed to be alert. He tightened his grip on the poker, holding it up like a baseball bat and slunk to the outer wall of the room. The large window looked over the back yard and he shivered when he noticed small handprints covering the surface, as if someone had been pressed up against it. He swallowed heavily, as a shiver ran down his spine. What the hell had happened in this room?

He touched one of the smudges with his fingertips. If he was going to find anything then it was going to be in this room. The ghost seemed to be attached to it somehow, not to mention the bloodstain on the floor. He remembered noticing a few areas where walls had been knocked down; the workmen had done a very good job of hiding it, but he could still tell the difference in the rough plaster on the walls and the faint lines on the floor. The one room probably used to be two long ago and since it was at the back of the house, he assumed that it had to be a servants quarters of some sort. He was assuming, of course, but old houses usually had separate parts for servants with their own rooms, closets, and staircases. He tilted his head; there was only one staircase as far as he knew, but who was he to say that there never had been move than one.

Ichigo shoved his way through the mess, but the room looked normal – apart from the stain, of course. He sighed, not sure what he had been expecting. It was a pretty normal house, or would be if not for the fact that it was haunted. He shuffled from the windows to the closets. Each room had narrow walk-in closets and at first Ichigo had been thrilled with all the space they were getting; five bedrooms, three bathrooms, finished basement and – he paused – an attic.

He felt as if the room had dropped ten degrees and he started to shiver in earnest. There was supposed to be an attic. He quickly trotted back to the hallway, scanning the ceiling for a door, a ladder, or anything, but there was nothing other than rough, wooden rafters. He chewed the inside of his cheek; he had been told that there was an attic – the website said so and the realtor had said so. They wouldn't have lied would they? Maybe the entrance wasn't in the hallway, maybe it was in one of the rooms. He went through every room paying close attention to the ceiling and found the entrance in a corner in the back room. He sighed. Of course.

He had to get a step ladder to be able to reach the handle to pull down the folding ladder. It clunked heavily to the floor and Ichigo felt his heart start to beat heavily as he looked up into a completely ominous, dark _cavern_. He was really insane if he was going to investigate this. F2He shook his head as he stepped onto the first rung. He was absolutely insane. He made sure that he wasn't going to drop the poker as he climbed up the ladder. His stomach was churning so hard that he was glad that he hadn't eaten anything for the morning, and the back of his neck tingled, sending shivers down his spine. He was pretty sure that every last inch of him was covered in goose bumps and even though he had finished working out his heart rate was skyrocketing.

He coughed as he poked his head into the attic. It was dusty, the air completely stagnant, and smelt of mould. He covered he nose with his hand trying not to breathe too deeply. Grey, morning light shone through a grimy portal at the far end of the room. He could just make out a few old, cardboard boxes, an antique writing desk, a rocking chair that was missing a rocker, and a bed frame propped up on its side. Ichigo blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the dim light and wrapped his arms around himself. The attic was un-insulated, of course, and he felt the tip of his nose and fingers grow numb. He switched the poker from one had to the other, clenching and unclenching his fingers around the handle. His sneakers padded against the rough plywood floor, footsteps echoed softly in the space between the flooring and the ceiling below. The top of his head brushed against the rafters and he found himself hunching over in preparation to strike if anything came flying at him.

Heading over to the old desk, deciding to take a look at it before anything else, he briefly glanced upwards for a light and reached out to pull a mouldy string. The bare light bulb, blinked on and started to hiss, throwing orange light from one end of the attic to the next and illuminating stray dust particles as they slowly floated around. There were piles of yellowing papers and envelops scattered on the top of the desk. Some were tied into bundles with pieces of string while other were folded and creased into irregular squares and rectangles. He picked up one, carefully unfolding it to see lines of tight scrawl, but it was illegible, the ink had seeped into the paper making it cloudy and impossible to decipher. He set it back down to shuffle through the rest of them, hoping to find one that he could read, when he noticed something sparkle at him from one of the plies. His heart thudded to a halt and he held his breath and sifted through the papers. His fingers brushed against something cold, smooth, and hard, or rather several somethings, that were hidden amongst the papers. He picked up a gold wedding band, briefly glancing down to his left hand to see if his was still there. Frowning, he gathered eight rings. Some were plain bands; others were set with diamonds in intricate designs. Some were gold, some silver, some titanium. Some were visibly older, caked with dust and tarnished, while one or two could have shone with a gentle cleaning. He wasn't sure if they were sets, or just halves, but there was no denying that they were all wedding rings. He felt his blood run cold and he tried to swallow, but his throat had gone dry.

Shaking his head, he let the rings fall from his palm back onto the desk with a loud clatter. Whatever this was, it was messed up. He found himself rubbing his own wedding band, briefly wondering if that was what the ghost was after all this time. A chill ran down his spine and he licked his dry lips. This was so messed up. He backed up, ready to head back downstairs, when he noticed the edge of a metal casing sticking out from one of the dislodged papers. He should have just left it; he had seen enough weird shit of one day, but against his better judgement he picked it up. It was a black and white picture of a man and a woman in a small, metal box that could latch shut and also doubled as a very ornate frame – a daguerreotype photograph. He brushed his fingertips against the glass, smoothing away a layer of dust from the couple's faces. The edges of the picture were fading, bits of discolouration seeped inwards, but majority of the picture was unharmed. The couple stared back at him neither smiling nor frowning, but they were holding each other's hand. Ichigo swallowed loudly closing the case with a snap and setting it back on the table. He felt dizzy suddenly, dizzy and cold. The picture of a young man and woman, who were not wealthy enough to buy fancy clothes – obviously servants of some sort, caused his breath to come in gasps. The story was true. He set the case down on the desk and backed away. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to get out of the attic and the house. And a movement at the corner of his eye made him move even faster.

Part of him wondered why the ghost had taken so long to appear; the rest of him brandished the poker as it leapt at him. He swung, he slashed, he stabbed, but the milky, bloodshot eyes spelt murder. It reappeared faster than it dissipated, growling a deep, gurgling sound that had thick, clotted, black blood dripping from the corners of its mouth, and snarling. Ichigo felt like he couldn't breathe, his chest seized while his heart thudded in quick time. He slashed it across the chest, a split second later it was behind him snarling in his ear. He spun, stumbling back when he felt something prick his back and his eyes flew to its hands. The skin was grey and scabbed, the nails were black, brittle, and broken, a finger was missing from its left hand, but the steel blade that glinted in its grasp was what had Ichigo swearing aloud. It looked like one of their kitchen knives. He cursed himself; he hadn't even noticed that one was missing this past week. He swallowed heavily, trying his best not to appear as scared as he felt and guarded himself with the poker. His eyes travelled back to its face and he took in the saggy, half-decomposed skin that clung to cheekbones, the lopsided mouth with cracked lips and black teeth, and the eyes. He felt as if he had eaten a bucket of ice cubes and the cold was spreading from his stomach outwards. The dead eyes, that wished nothing but harm.

Ichigo took another step backwards, preparing to run, to somehow get as far away as he could, but he bumped into the desk. Before he even got a chance to steady himself the ghost was on him. He swung blindly; it moved too fast for him to follow and all he could do was hope that he could fend it off. It was wishful thinking, he knew, when he felt a white, hot pain in his side. He yelled, swinging the poker down while he fell back against the desk. An avalanche of papers and rings fell to the floor around him, followed by a thud as the photograph tipped over the edge as well. The case landed on a corner, inches from Ichigo's hand and fell open to reveal the image inside. Ichigo saw it from the corner of his eye as he hunched over, wrapping his free arm around his middle, pressing his palm into the wound in an effort to stop the blood from flowing. It had already turned the bottom half of his shirt red and he swore, hoping that the monster hadn't hit anything vital. It felt like it did. Breathing heavily, trying to ignore the throbbing sting he held up the poker again, swinging with all his strength, despite the fact that any movement was agony. The ghost threw itself on top of him again, snarling and gnashing at his face. He swung, managing to get it right in the chest. It disappeared for a few seconds the reappeared to his right then it froze.

A strange expression flitted across its face, something akin to longing and sorrow. Ichigo didn't waste time in thinking about it however; he thrust the poker into its chest and it disappeared in a whoosh of air. It didn't reappear instantly and Ichigo had enough time to pull himself to his feet. He pressed his hand against the gash in his side as he studied the attic, but it didn't come back at him. Everything had gone completely still, the air was dead and the only sound was Ichigo's own harsh breathing. He leaned heavily against the desk, the side of his foot knocked into something heavy and he looked down to see the photograph in the metal case. Was that what had caused the ghost to freeze up? He bent down, gritting his teeth against the pain that erupted in his side and picked up the photograph, snapping it shut and shoving it into his pocket. If that was what had caused the ghost to lose its concentration then he was damn well sure that he was going to keep it.

He stumbled to the ladder, biting back groans, and clumsily climbed down. He felt dizzy, the ground was saying beneath his feet, but he knew that he needed to get out of the house. He was barely lucid when he found his phone and stumbled to the front porch. Black spots were creeping into the edges of his vision, much like the photograph that was in his pocket. He didn't remember calling 911, but he must have because as he sunk into darkness he could have sworn that he heard a siren.

* * *

**It's Ichigo's turn to be attacked, hehehe **

**Finally getting into the thick of things now. Kudos to the one person who picked up on the ring/ ring finger thing a few chapters ago! **

**Reviews, theories, and questions are all welcome.**

**-Mymomomo**


	12. Digging

Ichigo woke up to white, granted his vision was a bit blurry, but everything was white. The ceiling, the sheets, the curtain that ran around his bed, even the medical machinery that surrounded him was all white. It made his skin itch a bit; he imagined this is what it would be like in the afterlife, except his stomach wouldn't be throbbing the way it was. He groaned loudly and tried to sit up, but a sharp pain tore through his side and he opted to stay back against his pillow.

"That's going to be sore for a little while, Mr. Kurosaki-Hitsugaya," a cheery voice stumbled over his name, butchering the pronunciation so badly that he nearly winced.

He slowly turned his head to see a nurse injecting something into his IV. She smiled at him before moving to the foot of the bed and unclipping a clipboard from the metal frame.

"How are you feeling, apart from the pain?"

He glanced around the room before answering and spied a small figure slumped in a plastic chair and smiled. "'M okay." His tongue felt heavy and clumsy in his mouth.

The nurse raised an eyebrow, but smiled again. "Alright then, the doctor should be with you shortly."

The moment she had left through the plastic curtain he tried to sit up again. He felt groggy and the room was tilting a bit but he didn't want to remain on his back. With a mighty groan and a sharp intake of breath he managed to hunch over his legs. Damn, that hurt and his head was spinning now. He took a few deep breaths as the pain in his side ebbed away and the room stopped swaying then he placed a palm to his side, feeling a thick layer of gauze through the thin fabric of his hospital gown. Right, he had been stabbed. He vaguely remembered dialling 911 and dipping in and out of consciousness as paramedics fretted about him in a moving ambulance then later on in the hospital.

The ghost must have gotten him good, he thought with a wince, but it could have been worse; he could be dead. He shivered at the thought; they really needed to do something, move or rent an apartment even. The house was dangerous and they should not be living in it. Right now, he didn't care if they would need to take out a loan for a new house. He should have put his foot down and said no the night Toushiro had nearly been strangled. He shook his head, letting out a weary breath, and turned to his snoozing husband, bracing his palms on the bed and trying to focus his vision. Toushiro's neck was craned awkwardly on his shoulder and his lips were slightly parted, who knew how long he had been sitting there.

"Shiro," he called out, coughing at how dry his throat was, "Shiro, babe, wake up... Shiro!" he ended in a coughing fit, doubling over and clutching his side as the movement caused new pain to lance through his abdomen.

Toushiro woke with a jolt, blinking in confusion before he narrowed in on Ichigo. Immediately, he was on his feet and rushed over to his bedside. He threw his arms around his neck, small back heaving and shuddering. Ichigo hesitantly wrapped his arms around Toushiro's shoulders, mindful of the IV needle in his hand and the throbbing in his side, and nuzzled his face into his hair. He inhaled deeply; his husband's scent reminded him that he was still alright. He placed his palm in between sharp shoulder blades and balled his shirt. They were both still alive. He placed a gentle kiss to Toushiro's forehead then rested his check to the top of his head. They were both alight. _But_, he would be damned if he was setting foot into that house again.

Toushiro pulled away after a short while and scrubbed his hands across his face. Ichigo noticed that his eyes were slightly red around the edges and a bit swollen. He cupped the side of Ichigo's cheek. "What the hell happened?"

Ichigo sighed, "The ghost-"

He pulled away instantly, eyes widening. "What happened to the salt?"

"Was in the attic."

Toushiro frowned. "Why were you in the attic?"

"Looking for clues; you wouldn't believe what -"

"Why are you so stupid? You said you wouldn't put yourself in danger-"

"I said I was going to figure out how to get rid of -"

"No! I don't want you to die too!" he shouted suddenly, taking a step away from the bed.

Ichigo blinked and stared at Toushiro who was now visibly trembling. He dragged a hand down his face, wishing to the high heavens for the room to stop swaying. Toushiro was right, though; he had been stupid.

"I'm sorry, baby," he sighed, "it caught me off guard; I won't be putting myself in danger again, I promise."

Toushiro wrapped his arms around himself. "I can't lose you as well, Ichigo."

"You won't."

Toushiro took a deep breath as Ichigo reached out for his hand. His skin was little rough and dry in Ichigo's hand, but he smoothed his thumb over pale knuckles and brought it to his lips. Toushiro let his eyes slip shut as Ichigo pulled him back into a hug.

Ichigo managed to convince his doctor that he had inflicted the wound on himself in an 'accident'. He made up a story about slipping on the wet kitchen floor. The middle-aged man had stared at him sceptically, but when Toushiro backed him up, saying that he was normally very clumsy he backed off and instructed Ichigo to be more careful. The wound hadn't been too severe, but any deeper and he could have badly damaged something vital. They had managed to patch him up with a few stitches. Still, they wanted to keep him in the hospital for a few days just to be safe, as he had lost quite a bit of blood.

Toushiro had dropped off his laptop, a change of clothes, and the patchwork quilt – which Ichigo was relieved that he hadn't thrown away – the next morning before he went to work. But even as he opened one of his Microsoft Word documents he felt his legs start to itch; how was he supposed to spend the entire day in bed? He would have tried to get up, but his side throbbed terribly every time he moved. Staying in bed was the best option; he just didn't know how he was supposed to stay sane. Especially when they served him breakfast.

"_Froot Loops_, Shiro, they gave me _Froot Loops_," he grumbled as he stirred the colourful cereal around his bowl, "I can't eat this."

Toushiro sighed, "Sorry, that the _hospital_ isn't all organic. Now's not the time to be worried about your diet."

"It's not a diet; it's a lifestyle. There's no nutritional value in this shit; it's just sugar and corn flour."

Toushiro chuckled dryly. "You'll survive. Anyway I'm going to be in meetings all morning; it's development week, so find someone else to complain to."

Ichigo huffed, "Okay fine, I get it; you don't want to talk to me. I still love you, though."

Toushiro snorted softly. "I really do have meetings."

When his husband hung up Ichigo let out a deep suffering sigh and pushed his bowl away. At least they gave him real fruit as well. He picked up a piece of cantaloupe with his fingers and plopped it into his mouth. The nurses had pulled the curtain back and he chatted a while with his neighbour, a talkative sixty year old man named Paul, who was in because of an obstructed bowel. Ichigo had been happy for the distraction for a while, until Paul hadn't stopped talking. He listened politely, nodding occasionally and nearly sighed in relief when a nurse brought over a pair of folded gym shorts, his sneakers, and the small, metal box.

"Your shirt was ruined," she explained as she set his things on the plastic chair next to his bed. "We had to cut it off."

He nodded and thanked her, leaning over to grab the photograph. He snapped the box open and brushed his fingertips along the smooth glass. The nurse watched him intently.

"That's an interesting photograph," she said, craning her neck to look at it. "Who are they, your grandparents?"

He snorted softly, "No. I'm not sure who they are actually. I found it in my attic the other day. I thought it was cool."

She nodded and turned slightly to check his IV and monitors. "You could probably get a pretty penny for it at the antique shop."

He raised his eyebrows as he circled the man's face with his nail. "There's an antique shop here?"

"Yeah, it's right next to the nail salon on Christen Avenue."

He made a mental note and snapped the picture shut. The ghost had frozen when he had seen it. He thought back to the attack; remembering the odd look that had crossed his twisted face. He had seemed shocked, a bit sad, and confused even. Then surely, this must have been a picture of him and his wife when they were alive. They had other photographs in the house, hanging on the walls, but the ghost hadn't reacted to any of them like that, so this one had to mean something to him. He chewed the inside of his cheek. If only he knew more about the ghost itself, maybe he could find out where he and his wife were buried. Or even how they died. The only injuries Ichigo had noticed on its mangled body were the missing finger and the blood that dripped from its mouth, probably from an internal injury or something. He still hadn't found out much more about the story Rachel had told him on Halloween.

He closed his eyes and rested back against his pillow. He'd start with that as soon as he was discharged.

...

Ichigo was discharged two days later. He stood in the waiting room with a bag slung over one shoulder, juggling three flower arrangements, a half-eaten fruit basket, and his phone. All his calls to Toushiro had gone to voicemail and he was beginning to get annoyed. His meetings should have been over by now. It was way past school hours and he could not understand why he wasn't answering his phone. He always did this, working after hours and ignoring the rest of the world as if nothing else mattered. Ichigo clenched his jaw, ending the call yet again and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to calm down before calling Renji. _He_ said he'd be there in fifteen minutes.

"So where's that dear husband of yours?" Renji snipped, opening the car door and taking one of the flower arrangements from him.

Ichigo hid a grimace as he swung himself into the passenger seat, already bristling without the help of Renji's comments. "He's busy at work."

"Busy enough not to be able to pick you up from the _hospital_?"

Ichigo gritted his teeth. "Lay off of him; it's not his fault."

Renji shrugged. "If it was Rukia in the hospital you'd be damn well sure I'd drop everything to pick her up," he muttered.

Ichigo rolled his eyes, not quite sure what Renji hopped to achieve with all these quips.

"Anyway, what's with all the flowers? How many people do you know?" Renji changed the subject.

Ichigo shook his head in exasperation. "Shiro's school sent one, my sister ordered one online, Rukia's responsible for the last one and the fruit. I mean it was nice of everyone, but I have no idea what I'm gonna do with them; they'll just end up dying."

"I told her flowers don't make sense, even if you're gay. A card would have been easier."

Ichigo ignored the gay jab; if he got angry at everything Renji said then they'd never have a decent conversation. Besides, Toushiro loved flowers; he almost grinned remembering how delighted he would look when Ichigo turned up for a date with a bouquet in hand. He needed to start doing that again. The conversation flowed easier once Renji left dangerous territory and started talking about 'this dumbass at work'. He invited Ichigo out for a drink on Friday and they had started a heated debate on who was going to make it to the NBA playoffs later in the season.

"You're a moron if you think-"Renji cut himself off when he pulled into Ichigo's driveway and spotted Toushiro's car parked next to Ichigo's truck. "Oh, busy, huh?"

Ichigo frowned. "I'm sure he has a reasonable explanation." Instantly his spine started to itch. What if the ghost had gotten him? What if he had been gravely injured? Or worse, dead. His heart began to thud heavily and his stomach churned while his mouth went dry.

"Hey, you need help getting out?" Renji asked, coming over to the passenger side.

Ichigo shook his head and tried to erase the panic that was sure to have made it onto his face. Renji helped him carry his things into the house, but Ichigo made him set them down in the foyer and rushed him out, praying that the ghost wouldn't attack. When he left he scrambled to the bedroom, hopping over the salt line and slamming the door shut. His side pulsated sharply at the exertion and he leaned against the closed door to catch his breath. He cupped his hand over his side, not daring to touch the stitches, but wanting to give himself some sort of comfort. He clenched his jaw as the rhythmic waves of pain subsided he pushed off from the door looking around for one of the pokers with the intent to search for his husband.

"Toushiro-" he cut himself off when he noticed that his husband was passed out on the bed still in his work clothes and shoes. He was snoring softly, his hair was a mess, and his phone lay inches from his hand. He must have been exhausted if he didn't wake up when Ichigo slammed the door or when he called. He sighed softly and clicked his tongue, reaching out to gently shake his shoulder. Toushiro woke with a soft groan snuggling into the sheets before turning his head to face Ichigo.

"Ichigo?" he asked in confusion, but even as he spoke his eyes widened and his hands flew to mouth. "Shit, Ichigo, I'm so sorry. Shit. I... I-"

"It's okay," Ichigo hummed easing himself onto the bed next to his husband, "Renji brought me back."

Toushiro's jaw tightened at the mention of Renji as he moved to sit up. "It's not okay; I should have been there." He picked up his phone, eyebrows rising as he scrolled through his missed calls. "How did I sleep through this? I'm so sorry." He scrubbed his hands down his face, looking genuinely distressed.

Ichigo sighed and wrapped a hand around his shoulders, pulling him close. "You look like you've had a long day."

Toushiro slumped against Ichigo's chest. "Doesn't matter; how are you feeling? What did the doctor say?"

"I need to take it easy for a few weeks. I guess there goes my workout plan."

Toushiro shook his head."And ghost fighting. Good."

Ichigo chewed the inside of his cheek. "About that, Shiro... I really think we should just cut our losses and get out. Taking out a loan isn't bad compared to dying."

Toushiro frowned, pulling away. "We _just_ moved."

"Into a haunted house. This ghost is really dangerous, babe, and neither of us know what we're dealing with."

"How will we explain why we moved again to everyone? They'll think we're crazy."

"Then let them, as long as we stay alive I don't care."

Toushiro sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I have a reputation to uphold at the school..."

"You won't have any reputation at all if that thing kills you."

"I'll think about it."

Ichigo blanched. "_Think about it_! Shiro, there's nothing to-"

"I said I'll think about it."

"We could die! There's nothing to think about. You were nearly asphyxiated; I ended up in the hospital. What else do you want to happen to us?"

"The salt works. I haven't had any trouble while you were gone. If you hadn't gone into the attic-"

"I was trying to figure out to how get rid of it! It's dangerous! I don't understand why you want to stay here."

Toushiro took a deep breath through his nose. "We don't have the money to buy a new house."

"Then we'll rent an apartment."

"No. We can survive here, if we're not stupid about it."

"What's stupid is if we stay here knowing that we're in danger. Do you hear yourself?"

Toushiro scowled. "We can't move. How would it look if-"

"That doesn't matter-"

"It does! Do you know how many people I have breathing down my neck at work? They're trying to get me fired because I'm gay. They would leap to spread the rumour that we moved because we believe in ghosts. Then I'm sure they'd dig up everything about my depression and before you know it they'll say it's not safe for children to be around me. We _can't _move."

Ichigo clenched his jaw tightly, balling his hands into fists. He had a point. There were many people here who were prejudiced towards them. He remembered seeing an article in the news paper a few months ago saying how a more than few families had withdrawn their children from Gabriel Heathers High because of Toushiro. He hadn't brought it up, not wanting to stress his husband further. He felt his chest deflate, and reached up to rake his hair away from his face.

"Fine," he ground out, "But then I'm going to find a way to get rid of it. And if I put myself into danger again then that's that."

...

Ichigo searched through police records and new articles, anything that spoke about Fifteen Morrison Drive. The details about the murders that had occurred in the house were sketchy and barely anything was released to the public. But it seemed that it was a fact that the wife had 'gone crazy' and had murdered her husband, seemingly gaining inhuman strength, dragging him into the back room and slitting his throat. She had then proceeded to gnaw off her ring finger. Ichigo shuddered, glancing at his left hand and remembering the collection of rings he had found in the attic. If the ghost had been collecting rings from its victims, then that might have been the reason why the woman had chewed off her finger.

He remembered something about a ring, from the story Rachel had told him. He really needed to find out more about this story before he could draw any conclusions. He looked up news paper articles for the family before that then decided to make a few phone calls. He called the maid that had found the bodies first; she still lived in Rayle, even though she would be close to retirement age by now. At first she was hesitant to speak to him, saying that she had already told the cops everything she knew, but he explained that he was thinking about writing a book she opened up considerably. She gave him details that hadn't been in the newspapers. She had found the couple in the backroom dead on the floor. It looked like they had been there for a few days; she only cleaned on Wednesdays and Fridays so she wasn't sure for how long they were there for. She told him that the police had ruled it as a double suicide, unable to find any leads on murderers or any other DNA. But they both looked like they had been strangled. The man's neck had been broken and slit open, and the woman had been covered in bruises and a few stab wounds. Then finally, after much prompting, she told him that they each had a finger cut off. The same finger; their ring finger. Ichigo had thanked her, shivers running up his spine.

He glanced at the shut bedroom door with unease. His skin crawled a bit at the thought of the ghost looming on the other side. Rings were definitely a trend in that case. He rubbed his own silver band wondering, if that was the only thing the ghost was after. If he just gave it up, would they be left alone? But no, everyone else had been killed. It was after something more than just their rings. He sighed and moved on to the next phone number that the realtor had given him.

It turned out to be a very grumpy woman; the daughter of the couple where the wife had murdered her husband. She seemed like she was about to hang up on him but when he mentioned that he was calling from Wyoming he barely even got another word out before she had demanded if they had found her mother's wedding ring yet. Ichigo wasn't sure how to respond, but asked if she would be willing to answer a few questions. She said no, and told him not to call back.

The number after that was for a mental institution in Florida. He was thankful that he had done a bit of research before this and knew that the wife was still alive, but deemed crazy. He pretended to be a family member in order to speak to her and to his surprise and sheer luck it worked. She seemed to be confused, believing him when he said he was family, or perhaps she was simply happy to have someone to talk to. Her daughter didn't seem like the type to visit anyone in a hospital, mental ward or not. Maybe that was why he had been able to speak to her, the hospital staff probably felt sorry for her.

"You want to know about that night? I already told everyone what happened; it wasn't me."

Ichigo held his breath. "What if I said that I believe you? That I know that you didn't do it..."

There was a long pause where all he could hear was her breathing.

"Would you tell me what really happened?" he pressed.

She was quiet for a little while longer, and then said dejectedly, "You'll call me crazy too."

"I promise I won't."

When it became clear that she was very reluctant to tell him any more than that, he dropped the concerned family member facade. "I really need to know what happened. My spouse and I are living in your old house and some really weird things have been happening-"

"You need to get out of there now," she gasped, "you'll die."

Ichigo's throat went dry. "I can't. Please tell me what happened, what you saw that night."

She was silent again and Ichigo was about to give up. It was understandable why she was so reluctant to talk about it. He had dealt with the death of loved one before, not just Ken; his mother had died when he was a child. He still couldn't talk about either of them without tearing up.

As he was about to thank her for her time she began to speak. "If you've lived in that house for a while I'm sure you've seen the ghost. It's a disgusting man, perverted always grabbing and touching. Robert didn't believe me until that night... it dragged me into the room facing the backyard and Robert followed... I..." her voice broke and Ichigo could hear her begin to cry. "It killed him, just like that, and I couldn't do anything, I couldn't move." She paused and took a deep, shuddering breath, "then it came over to me, almost quietly and touched my face. When I tried to run away it got angry and... and," she broke off sobbing.

Ichigo felt his stomach clench and me mumbled a few words of comfort.

"It attacked. I... I don't know how I got out. But you need to get out of that house. You and your wife are in danger, it'll kill you. It'll kill you both."

...

Ichigo's search lead him to another grave yard. It was just by a stroke of luck that he had come across an ancient employee record for the old coal mine which allowed him to search for where each person was buried. He had nearly shouted in success the night before, before he realised that it was nearly two in the morning and Toushiro was sleeping inches away from him. He had found the full ghost story on an overly enthusiastic website dedicated in collecting ghost stories from small towns. The 'servant' had actually been a worker at the coal mine, while his wife worked at the house. The story was also much bloodier and more gruesome than what Rachel had told him and a few sentences in he decided that it was best to save it for the morning.

However, the next day he was woken by his cell at nearly twelve when Yuzu called to check up on him. The rest of the day was taken up as random errands mad themselves known. He had to go grocery shopping, their electricity bill was overdue and the company didn't allow web payments on late payments. Then when he was about to pull into the driveway and finally start his research, Toushiro called to say that his car wouldn't start. When he got to the school they still had to wait at least an hour for the tow truck to arrive. Fixing cars was the one thing Ichigo knew the least about. But the amount of questions he was asked made the hour pass quickly enough. The teachers, and some students, were excited to finally meet Toushiro's _elusive_ husband. However, he now understood what exactly Toushiro meant when he said that he was treated like a collectors' item. Then when they finally got home, Renji called to ask if he was still up to go to the bar. He couldn't refuse; Renji was easily becoming his best friend. So, he pulled on a clean shirt and head back to the town for the third time that day. Research would have to wait, but now that he finally felt like he had a lead he was anxious the get back to it for the entire night and found that even Renji's playful banter wasn't enough to distract him.

* * *

**Sorry for the delay... had a busy week. **

**-Mymomomo**


	13. Dirty Games

He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but with all the damn medication he was on and with how early he had gotten up that morning he couldn't help it. And the day's events had worn him out even further. Work had not been particularly trying, but all the meetings he had to sit through were long and tedious, especially when there was this one parent on the board who would have loved to see him fired and made it her job to contradict everything he said. Granted he was new to the school, but this wasn't his first education administration position, so he damn well knew what he was doing. he had ended up so annoyed towards the end of the meeting that he had just shut his mouth and listened. Then his car wouldn't start and he had to call Ichigo to come get him. He was sure to be hearing about it for weeks; he had wanted to keep his husband away from the school for as long as possible, knowing how the vultures would dive in on him.

But, he was home now and he could finally rest, maybe soak in the tub for an hour or so while Ichigo was out with Renji. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, clutching an iron poker in one hand. He glanced into the kitchen debating on whether or not it was worth it to make food, and decided that maybe a cup of tea would do him some good. While he was waiting for the tea bag to steep, he found himself staring out, past the dining room, into the living room. The new couch had arrived sometime last week and Ichigo had begun to re-hang a few pictures on the walls and mantle. He smiled slightly; his husband had always tried his hardest to make everywhere they lived to feel like a home. One picture in particular had him wondering from the safety of the kitchen into the cold living room. He plucked the picture frame from its place on the centre of the mantel and pressed his fingertips to the cold glass. A chubby three-year-old grinned back at him with cheeks smudged with blue paint. He found the corners of his mouth flickering upwards as his eyes grew misty and his chest tight. He stumbled back against the couch holding the picture tightly and tracing the outline of Ken's face. The photograph didn't do him justice at all; his brown eyes had been much more vibrant and full of emotion. His hair was curlier and softer than it looked on paper, and his face had been more freckles than skin. He had been perfect and now... Toushiro clutched the picture to his chest, heaving a difficult breath as he curled onto his side. He should have been more careful, more alert. If he had just reacted a few seconds sooner, he would have been holding his son instead of a photograph. He screwed his eyes shut, how could everything hurt so much?

...

"Pancakes?" Ichigo asked, wrinkling his nose slightly when he peeked at the stovetop from over Toushiro's shoulder.

Toushiro rolled his eyes as he poured a fresh cup of batter onto the frying pan. The kitchen smelt of cinnamon and vanilla, and he couldn't help but be in a good mood that morning. "I used that special flour you bought, don't worry."

"And coconut oil instead of butter?"

Toushiro grimaced. "Don't eat them then. I'm making them for Ken, not you."

Ichigo chuckled. "Next time."

"No. You need to get over yourself; I'm not compromising my or my son's diet just so you can boast to your gym buddies."

"I thought husbands were supposed to be supportive…" Ichigo muttered playfully, as he poured water into the kettle and set it to boil.

"I am supportive. I'm very supportive. I used that gross flour."

Ichigo's argument was cut off by the sound of tiny feet pattering along the hallway and an excited squeal.

"Pancakes!" Ken tore into the kitchen dressed in ducky pyjamas and toddling dangerously on unsteady feet. He rammed himself into the back of Toushiro's knees and grabbed fistfuls of his flannel pants. "Daddy made pancakes!"

He nearly managed to yank Toushiro's pants right past his hips and Ichigo grinned, chuckling softly. He bent down and scooped the toddler into his arms and tossed him lightly into the air then blew raspberries against his chubby cheeks. Ken laughed loudly, trying to escape his father's attacks and hug him at the same time. Toushiro smiled, yanking his pants back up with one hand and checking to see if the pancake was ready to flip with the other.

"What do you say to daddy for making you pancakes?" Ichigo asked.

"Thank you," Ken sang, squirming in Ichigo's arms to peer at the stovetop. "Are those choc-ate chips?"

"No, blueberries," Toushiro answered, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

"Booberries?" Ken echoed. "Do I like them?"

Ichigo chuckled. "Yes, we had them yesterday for breakfast, remember? With your cereal."

Ken's face lit up, as if he had realised that it was Christmas and his birthday rolled into one. "Oh yeah!"

Ichigo ruffled Ken's messy, brown curls. "You're so silly."

"I forgot," Ken admitted, bashfully as Ichigo set him in his booster seat and put down a small, plastic plate on the mat in front of him.

"You forgot?" Ichigo asked in mock surprise.

Ken shrugged, but all his attention was on the plate of pancakes which Toushiro had set on the table. His mouth was practically watering, and he bounced up and down in his seat. Toushiro smiled widely at the way Ken giggled when he placed a pancake on his plate and began to cut it into squares.

Ichigo set a jar of honey on the table and Toushiro rolled his eyes. He refused to buy maple syrup, even the organic kind, but Ken didn't seem to care; he was happy with anything sweet.

"You spoil him," Ichigo whispered into his ear as he stretched across the table to get himself a pancake.

Toushiro grinned smugly. "I know."

…

Toushiro slammed on the brakes, turning the steering wheel as fast as he could. His heart leapt to his mouth and Ken screamed from the backseat, as the car spun out of control. He had barely had any time to react, the only warning he had gotten was the screeching of tyres against asphalt, and honking horns. Then the entire back end of his car had slammed into the highway divider. Headlights spun and blurred in front of the windshield and all he could remember was calling out to Ken. It had all happened so fast. A screech, a thud, a lurch, and crash. His door crumbled in on him and he must have hit his head. Even after the car stopped spinning, he couldn't see straight and his ears were still ringing.

He couldn't move one of his arms and it hurt to breathe, but he weakly reached to the back seat, murmuring his son's name.

…

It was the thud from the picture frame hitting the floor that woke Toushiro up. It wasn't the freezing temperature or the weight over his body. But he swore and jolted, kicking out at the figure that was hovering over him. How could he have been so stupid as to fall asleep on the couch? There was no salt around it; he was out in the open. The ghost grinned at him; a drop of congealed, black blood dripped from its mouth onto his cheek, and he wanted to retch at the smell. His stomach was already churning, tying itself into a very tight not. He glanced around for the iron poker, but of course it wasn't within arm's reach. He spied it under the coffee table, but no matter how far he stretched his arm he wouldn't have been able to grasp it.

The ghost's eyes followed his line of vision, and its twisted smile grew. Toushiro's heart was palpitating and he felt cold sweat break out all over his body. He squirmed trying to get it off of him, but the heavy weight sat like lead on his torso. He was so stupid, how could he have fallen asleep here? This was his own fault. The ghost leaned in, inches from his face, and Toushiro thrashed, he would have thrown himself from the couch if it wasn't pinning him down.

A rough finger brushed his hairline and Toushiro squeezed his eyes shut, flinching at the touch. He expected it to drag its nails down his face, gouge out his eyes, or rip out his tongue, but it brushed his hair from his forehead and traced his cheek. Toushiro drew in a sharp breath, instantly regretting it as he inhaled the stench of rotting flesh. He slowly opened his eyes as the stroking continued along his jaw, chin, and nose. Milky eyes stared back at him, heavy-lidded, and missing the tinge of malice that he had seen before. Somehow that didn't make Toushiro feel any better.

His heart was beating a heavy staccato, and he could feel himself trembling. He needed the poker and he needed it now. He tried to grab it again, straining his muscles until his shoulder started to hurt. The ghost ran its finger across his bottom lip. Toushiro winced as the rough skin dragged against his mouth. He knew where this was going. He tried to turn his head away, jerking it from one side to the next. His resistance was short-lived, however, seconds later a scaly hand clamped down on his jaw, forcing his head still. He tried to push it away next, but he may have been trying to push a concrete wall. He wrapped his hand around its decaying wrist, pulling, trying to pry its finger from his face. He kicked his legs and bucked his hips to get it off. It didn't move, instead it drew closer. Toushiro gagged as its smell invaded his mouth and nose, and he screwed his eyes shut once more. He squirmed, thrashed as hard as he could, and continued to reach for the poker.

The hand around his jaw tightened and before he knew what was happening the weight on his torso disappeared and he was flung from the couch by his neck. He crashed into the coffee table face first, almost knocking it over. Pain exploded in his right temple and he felt blood gush down his face, stinging his eye. For a split second all he could see was white, but he caught himself and blindly scrambled for the poker. Just as he felt something slam into his back his left hand closed around the handle. He swung as hard as he could, spinning on his knees. He could only see out of one eye, but he saw the ghost dissipate as the poker drove through its face.

Toushiro wasted no time in picking himself up and scrambling into the kitchen. He collapsed onto his hands and knees after he crossed the salt line. His entire body was shaking, and goose bumps covered his arms. He took a few heaving breaths, as he felt nausea rise from the pit of his stomach. He gagged a few times, positive that he was going to vomit, and dry heaved.

Careless. He had been so careless. He could have died just then. He shut his eyes, hanging his head between his forearms. He shouldn't have gone in there, he shouldn't have let his guard down, he shouldn't have fallen asleep. If the picture hadn't fallen he would have been dead. His breath caught in his throat. He should have been paying more attention to his surroundings, he should have been quicker. A shuddering sob tore from his throat and within seconds both blood and tears were streaming down his face. He should have been the one to die in the accident, not Ken. He should have insisted the Ken drive home with Ichigo after dinner at Yuzu's. He knew that he was tired and driving in rain wasn't something he was terribly good at. He should have turned down the radio and looked at the mirrors a little more. He should have taken the time to check that Ken's car seat was secured properly after moving it from Ichigo's car. He shouldn't have taken the highway home.

Careless. Stupid. His father was right; he could only destroy and hurt. He would only ever cause the people around him to suffer. He should have died. He should have died, not Ken. Loud sobs wracked his chest, blood and tears dripped onto the tiles. He threaded a hand into his hair and pulled; some strands broke from his scalp. How could he have messed up so badly? There were so many things he could have done to prevent it.

He picked himself up when he realised that house was in darkness. He scrubbed his hands down his face, feeling puffy eyes. The right was nearly swollen shut thanks to the gash on his brow. The cut itself had stopped bleeding but, as he turned on the light he realised that his shirt was unsalvageable and the tiles needed to be cleaned. He glanced to the stove clock; it wasn't that late. He'd have time to fix himself up before Ichigo got back.

...

"Ichigo, I'm fine, really," Toushiro mumbled as he eased himself onto the bed.

The redhead paused midsentence and tilted his head. "I don't believe that."

He wasn't fine, but he really didn't want to talk about it. Ichigo didn't need to know how he had almost gotten himself killed. But he knew that something involving the ghost had happened when he had seen Toushiro's face. He had surprised him, however, by asking him why he had been crying instead of what had happened with the ghost.

Toushiro didn't want to talk about it. He couldn't. His throat closed up every time he mentioned Ken. He gritted his teeth and turned away as Ichigo prattled on. It really wasn't his fault, though; he didn't know. He shouldn't get mad at him, but he did need him to stop talking. He didn't want to argue, not again.

So, he scooted closer to Ichigo and, placing a hand on his shoulder, stretched up to kiss him deeply. Obviously shocked, Ichigo almost pulled away before he kissed back, lips opening slightly.

"Now do you believe me?" Toushiro asked, pulling back.

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "How do I know that this isn't just a distraction-"

Toushiro sealed their mouths together again. He needed Ichigo to stop thinking for a while. He moved to straddle his husband and hooked his arms around his neck, tangling his fingers in his hair and tugging gently. Ichigo moaned softly, bringing a hand up to cradle the back of Toushiro's head while the other settled on the small of his back. Toushiro sighed out of relief as Ichigo pulled him closer. When they broke apart once more Ichigo was breathing heavily. He traced a finger along the side of Toushiro's face then along his bottom lip. He almost flinched, feeling rough, cold fingers instead. But this was so unlike what the ghost had done. His husband's touch was nothing but warmth and love. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Ichigo's again before he got the chance to speak and asked him what was wrong again.

He nipped at his bottom lip, gently sucking, and allowed his tongue to run against Ichigo's. Ichigo pulled them closer together forcing Toushiro down onto his obvious arousal. Good, Toushiro thought knowing that everything Ichigo had been thinking before had gone out the window. He just needed to keep it out there until they fell asleep. He ground his hips against Ichigo's erection earning a gasp and a hiss. Ichigo dragged his nails down his spine, causing him to shiver, then settled his palms against his butt, squeezing and kneading. Toushiro reached back to stop Ichigo's hands; he was only doing this to stop Ichigo's questioning. It felt good, of course, and he wanted it, but his medication killed his sex drive. Tonight wasn't any exception, especially with what had happened earlier with both the ghost and his dream. But again, Ichigo didn't need to know any of that. As far as he knew he was going to get a blowjob with no ulterior motive.

"Shirt off," he demanded, as Ichigo gave him a questioning look.

"Yes, my liege," Ichigo teased, forgoing his suspicions and pecking him on his lips before he began to lift his t-shirt over his head.

Toushiro leaned back, bracing himself on Ichigo's thighs as he watched his husband undress. He couldn't see much without his contacts, much less with one eye badly swollen, but he knew the muscles that lay underneath as well as his own skin. Once Ichigo had thrown his shirt to the side, Toushiro ran his fingers along Ichigo's chest, down his abs, avoiding his stitches, and toyed with the waistband of pants. Ichigo hissed sharply as Toushiro palmed his crotch.

"Babe," Ichigo breathed, "You don't-"

Toushiro rolled his eyes, digging the heel of his palm into the front of Ichigo's pants. "Shut up. You know what's coming."

...

"Let me," Ichigo mumbled, still high from his orgasm, and reached for Toushiro's groin when he slid back onto the bed.

"No." He batted his husband's hand away.

"But-"

"I'm not hard."

Ichigo withdrew his hand with a sigh. "You didn't have to do that then. I thought that-"

"It doesn't matter. You were."

"Yeah, but now I feel bad."

Toushiro sighed and rolled closer to place a gentle kiss to Ichigo's lips. "It doesn't matter."

Ichigo wrapped his arms around his shoulders. "Next time tell me, okay?"

"I don't see why-"

"Okay?"

Toushiro huffed, "Okay."

Ichigo rubbed his nose against the side of his neck and kissed it softly. "Now are you going to tell me what happened?" Toushiro made to pull away, but Ichigo held him tightly. Once he locked onto something there was no getting him to let go. Toushiro grumbled, cursing his toned arms. "Shiro, you can talk to me. Was it the ghost?"

Toushiro deflated, letting out a long sigh. "Yes, sort of..."

"Sort of?" Ichigo raised an eyebrow.

"I... I feel asleep in the living room."

Ichigo's eyes widened. "How, why?"

"I was a bit more tired than I thought. I only sat down for a second."

Toushiro expected his husband to start going on about how he needed to be more careful – the same lecture he had given Ichigo two days ago. He felt his cheeks heat and his stomach tightened uncomfortably. He had told Ichigo they would be alright as long as they didn't deliberately put themselves in danger and what had he turned around and done? Ichigo had a right to argue and call him stupid. He had just lain out in the open; the ghost could have killed him. It could have broken his neck; it had been a miracle that the coffee table had hit his brow instead of his eye. He chewed the inside of his cheek, debating whether or not to get up and leave before Ichigo started to berate him.

"How much longer do you need to be on medication?"

He almost thought that he didn't hear correctly. "I'm not sure."

He felt Ichigo breathe deeply against his neck and shoulder. "Since, we're not going to move, we need to be more careful. And that means if a room doesn't have salt don't spend any more time than you absolutely have to in there. Got it?"

"I know-"

"Do you? You said you fell asleep and I come home to you with half of your face bruised and swollen. If you can get mad at me for being careless then I have to right to as well."

The knot in Toushiro's stomach tightened. "I'm... sorry."

Ichigo kissed the side of his neck again and they fell into silence. Toushiro slowly brought his arms around Ichigo's waist and nudged his foot in between his calves. Ichigo peppered short, soft kisses against his neck and stroked his hair. He felt his eyelids begin to droop again and he held back a yaw.

"Sleepy?" Ichigo mumbled. "I think I'm gonna pass out as well. Need to get up early tomorrow anyway."

"Why?"

"I think a found a lead on the ghost; I found the full story on line and I'm going to an antique shop tomorrow to see if I can find out anything. They're only open half day on tomorrow."

"An antique shop?"

"I found an old photograph... someone might be able to tell me more about it."

"I'm coming with you then."

"You don't have to. I told you I'm gonna figure this out; you don't have to worry about me."

"It's not because I'm worried. I am, but tomorrow is Saturday, I don't have work, and it's not fair that you're the only one trying to get rid of the ghost. I want to help."

"Okay, then. We need to get an early start tomorrow; there are few places I need to get around to in Rayle."

Toushiro nodded as Ichigo kissed him again.

"And I'll tell you all I know in the morning."

* * *

**There is an explicit version of this chapter. Head on over to my tumblr, if you're interested. The link is in my profile :)**

**I needed a change of scenery for a while, so switched to work on a few other fics. I'll try to update this bi-weekly, but my priority now is finishing God Complex. **

**Sorry for the delay, but hope you guys enjoyed it anyway. **

**-Mymomomo**


	14. The Tale

The swelling had gone down the next morning, but the skin around Toushiro's right eye and temple was badly bruised and hurt to touch. After trying to put in his contact lenses for the third time, he gave up and decided to wear his glasses. He sighed, picking up his razor and eying it hesitantly. His hands were shaking a bit more than usual this morning, and even after washing his face with cold water he was still exhausted. He heard the shower shut off and shortly after Ichigo stepped to the sink beside him with a towel around his waist and small water droplets clinging to his shoulders and dripping from his hair. He had gotten up at the crack of dawn to go for a run, because apparently running wasn't strenuous exercise. Toushiro shook his head and set down the razor, opting for his toothbrush instead. Ichigo had been gone for over an hour, and he was still full of energy, gently bouncing on the balls of his feet and humming as he went about his morning routine. Toushiro stared at their reflections, grudgingly comparing how tired and pasty he looked to the ray of sunshine that was Ichigo. He rolled his eyes as Ichigo chuckled softly, and their gazes met in the mirror.

"What?" Toushiro asked through a mouthful of foam.

"Nothing." Ichigo smiled. "How're you feeling this morning?"

Toushiro shrugged and finished scrubbing his teeth. "My face hurts."

Ichigo grimaced, "It looks much better than last night."

Toushiro raised an eyebrow. "You don't have to lie; I know it's bad." He stepped away from the sink and yawned widely.

"You should have come jogging with me; you'd feel much better."

"Somehow I doubt that. I'm going to make coffee, you want any?"

"Sure," Ichigo shrugged one muscled shoulder and Toushiro tried to discreetly appreciate the way his back muscles moved as he walked past him.

"Wait," he called, suddenly spinning around and blocking Toushiro's way.

"What?"

Ichigo bent down and pecked him on the lips. "Good morning, beautiful."

Toushiro rolled his eyes; Ichigo was really the 'beautiful' one. "Yeah, morning."

...

Toushiro bent down to examine an old snow globe. Santa sat on a big, red armchair, reading a list while surrounded by tiny elves and red and green presents. Shaking his head, he straightened and continued down the narrow aisle of the antique shop. Ichigo was talking to the owners near the cash register; he would talk to anyone about anything and was taking his sweet time to get to the real reason why they were here. The shop was more of an oddity shop than an antique shop, as various skulls, skeletons, and taxidermy animals sat next to ancient sewing machines, foot stools, and china dinner sets. He picked up a deck of tarot cards and flipped them over, a layer of dust rubbed off on his hand. He grimaced and walked back over to Ichigo, who was in the middle of summarising one of his previous novels. He reached out for Toushiro's hand and pulled him into his side, without missing a beat. Toushiro saw the owner's eyes flicker to him in vague amusement and he glared back, daring him to say something.

"Anyway," Ichigo said, squeezing his shoulder, "I was hoping that you could help me with this." He pulled out a small, metal case from his coat pocket and held it out to the store owner. "It's your typical daguerreotype image, but I was hoping that you could help me to figure out dates and such."

The owner's eyes lit up as he plucked the case from Ichigo's hand and flipped it open. "Oh, where did you find this?"

Ichigo shrugged, "In our attic. It hasn't been clean out in ages; there was some pretty neat stuff."

The owner went behind the front desk and pulled out a magnifying glass from a drawer. "I'd be interested in what else you dig up then," he smiled before examining the photograph. "It is old... I'd date it to the early 1900s... It's actually a tintype, easy to mistake for a daguerreotype. I'm not sure about the exact date, but the style of clothing of the couple is definitely from the early twentieth century. Is that what you were looking for?"

Ichigo shrugged, "That sounds about right... I suppose that it'd be a stretch to ask if you knew who the people in the picture were."

The owner frowned, "I might be able to figure it out, where did you say you lived?"

"I didn't, but we're at Fifteen Morrison Drive-"

The owner gasped, his eyebrows disappearing into his greying hair. "Fifteen Morrison," he hid a smile, "There's a great many stories about that house."

Toushiro sighed and had to bodily refrain from rolling his eyes.

Ichigo grinned brightly, running his free hand through his hair. "We've heard a couple of them actually... but what do you know about it? I mean, would you tell us your version?"

"You like ghost stories?"

"I'm thinking about experimenting with the genre, actually."

Toushiro raised an eyebrow. That was the first he heard of this, or Ichigo could just be using his author card to sniff out information.

"Alright then, I hope I don't give you both nightmares-"

Toushiro snorted softly. Yes, nightmares. Unfortunately, those were the least of their problems.

"I'd guess that this is a photograph of the Willis ghost."

"The Willis ghost?" Ichigo echoed.

The owner smiled and nodded. "Well, back in the days were coal mining was huge here there used to be a few families who owned large mines. One was the Willis family; they lived where you do now. The story goes that they weren't great people. They mistreated their workers and the children were a nuisance to the town, but because they were rich they also had a lot of power and sway with the town council."

Toushiro raised an eyebrow. This honestly didn't sound very promising. They really should just be searching for a way to kill the ghost... again. Or whatever people did to get rid of ghosts. He didn't need a history lesson. Ichigo tightened the hand he had around his waist, silently telling him to pay attention. He didn't want to, so he let his eyes roam the shelves which he had just explored. Ichigo squeezed his waist again. He sighed inwardly and turned his attention back to the store owner. The man was still staring at the photograph; he hadn't even seen Toushiro's eyes wandering. He glared at Ichigo and folded his arms across his chest in annoyance.

"Everyone in town knew that Thomas was going to ask Suzanne to marry him. Saved up every penny he had to buy a ring."

Toushiro was lost. Thomas was the servant? The man in the picture?

"But then trouble started when one of the Willis boys decided that he liked Suzanne as well. I think he just wanted to stir up trouble, like the boys always did for the poor folk. They accused Thomas of stealing the ring from Mrs. Willis and the poor boy ended up getting fired from the coal mine. The Willises thought that would be enough to make Suzanne forget about him, but she was making plans to run away with Thomas and look for work in another state. The boys found out, even back then no one could keep a secret in Rayle, and kidnapped Suzanne.

"They kept her locked up in the attic, no one quite knows exactly what happened, but Suzanne had refused everything the boys offered, money and what have you, claiming that she loved Thomas. And that was one thing no one had ever done before, the Willis boys always got what they wanted. So, they were out for blood. They got to Thomas beat him up pretty badly then dragged him back to the house to show Suzanne what happened when people refused them."

"They killed him in front of her?" Ichigo asked, looking a bit green.

The owner shook his head. "That would have been the nicer thing to do. First they cut off Suzanne's ring finger, so she'd never be able to get married, then they did the same to Thomas."

Toushiro rubbed his wedding band with his thumb. The ghost was missing its ring finger... a chill ran up his spine and he leaned against Ichigo's side.

The owner continued. "They kept the two of them in the attic for around a week, god alone knows what happened up there, but when they brought the bodies out to be buried people described it as a slaughter. Their faces were disfigured, limbs missing-"

"I think we get it, thanks," Toushiro cut him off. Ichigo rubbed his shoulder and pulled him in closer.

"Right, so you can see why someone killed like that would leave a violent ghost."

Ichigo cleared his throat. "Yeah... uh. Well we did ask you to tell us."

Toushiro was beginning to feel sick. So basically they were left to clean up the mess made by a couple of spoilt brats from over a century ago. He rubbed his temples, then grimaced as he accidentally pressed the bruise on his face.

...

Toushiro rubbed his hands together and held them in front of the heater. Winter was looking to be rather harsh, with how cold it was already. He dreaded to think about how cold their house would feel.

"That was helpful," Ichigo said brightly, hooking and arm around Toushiro's seat as he turned to reverse out of the parking spot.

"Helpful?" Toushiro muttered, "We still have no clue how to get rid of it."

Ichigo hummed. "We'll he did say something about helping it to pass on... if ghosts only remain in this world because they have unfinished business then all we have to do is figure out what that business is."

Toushiro rolled his eyes. "You say that as if it's an easy thing to do."

"It's not going to be easy... but this story and the ones I found online match up; I can figure something out."

"And what if you're wrong?"

Ichigo paused, and glanced at Toushiro out of the corner of his eye. "Let's not think about that, okay?"

Toushiro pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest. This was ridiculous, the entire conversation was ridiculous. How could there be a ghost haunting their house; ghosts weren't even supposed to exist. Yet, he was covered with the physical proof. He brushed his fingers against the bruise on his face. It twinged, sending a jolt of pain deep into his temple. He didn't want to deal with this; there was already so much that was going on and he was so tired. So very tired. He closed his eyes and rested the back of his head against the headrest, his glasses were bumped out of place and he let them slide down his nose.

"Hey, you wanna get lunch while we're here?" Ichigo asked.

"Hmmm?" he cracked open an eye, watching Ichigo's blurry figure over the top of the thick frames.

"We haven't gone out together since we moved here, and I don't feel like cooking today."

Toushiro sighed, "I'm not really hungry-"

"All you had for breakfast was a cup of coffee, Shiro. Look, I'm not saying that you have to stuff yourself, but I don't want you to lose any more weight."

Toushiro wrapped his arms around his waist and huddled into the car seat. Of course Ichigo noticed that he had lost a lot of weight; he would have to be blind not to. But it still somewhat stung to hear him say it out loud. He didn't want to be on medication, he didn't want to be constantly tired, and have no appetite –

"You used to like Italian, there's a little restaurant here that has the best bruschetta," Ichigo said, tilting his head to the side. "I went there with Renji a few weeks ago."

Toushiro clicked his tongue, forcing his arms to unwind from around himself. "You go out with Renji a lot."

Ichigo frowned slightly. "I... well... yeah, he's my friend, and it's not like I have tonnes of shit to do at home anyway."

"I was just making an observation."

"Right."

Toushiro pulled his jacket more tightly around himself, despite the fact that it was warm in the car. They were silent for a few minutes. Toushiro pushed his glasses back up his nose and stared out the window, watching as small buildings, and decorated storefronts passed by. Most of the trees had lost all of their leaves, the ground around them littered with decaying brown. It had yet to snow yet, however. He lightly bit the inside of his cheek; he shouldn't have made that comment about Renji. There had been no reason for that. Ichigo already knew that he wasn't a huge fan of his friend; he didn't need to remind him at every chance. This was how fights started. He didn't want to start a fight today. They hadn't fought in... weeks, almost a month. He opened his mouth to apologise, but Ichigo spoke first.

"So, are we going out for lunch or what?" he asked a bit timidly.

"Sure," Toushiro muttered, trying to sound cheerful but failing.

"Italian?"

"Sure."

They ordered a plate of bruschetta to start. The waiter seemed to know Ichigo and they had gotten a booth by the window. It never ceased to amaze Toushiro how quickly his husband made friends. He was the one with the job, but the only person he really knew was Rachel – and that was because she had forced herself on him, leaving him no choice but to be friends. Ichigo, though, was making friends with even the waiters, and he and the Abarais were getting increasingly closer. Toushiro almost felt out of place as he watched Ichigo smile as he gave their order. His skin began to itch slightly and he wanted to go home. But, he didn't want to go home, not to the ghost at least. He balled his pants in his fists under the table and focused his attention on a group of teenagers skateboarding across the street, recognising a few of them from school.

"Hey, Shiro, you okay?" Ichigo asked, hooking his ankle around Toushiro's calf.

Toushiro looked away from the window and picked at a crack on the edge of the table. "I... uh... yeah."

Ichigo wrinkled his nose. "Was it what I said about coming here with Renji?"

"No. No, if you want to spend time with him, you can. I'm your husband, not your warden."

Ichigo smirked a bit. "_We_ should be spending more time together. We've been here since the end of August and I think this is the first time we've been out together."

Toushiro raised his eyebrows, thinking back. He shook his head. "There's been a lot going on."

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean we can't go out on dates."

Toushiro succeeded in widening the crack and placed his hands on the tabletop. "Yeah."

Ichigo reached across the table and took his hand, smoothing his thumb over his knuckles. "We could go for ice cream, go to the movies, see a play... we could go bowling!"

Toushiro chuckled, tension leaving his body as Ichigo's eyes sparkled with his enthusiasm. "There's a bowling alley here?"

Ichgio grinned. "A small one... but it's pretty shady."

"And you think that would make the ideal date?"

Ichigo brought Toushiro's hand to his lips. "Only the best for you, baby."

Toushiro shook his head, hiding a smile with his free hand. "Of course, why would I think that-"

"Look who's crawled out of his hole!"

Toushiro winced as he recognised the tenth grade English teacher's voice, a woman with curly, brown hair, a surprisingly loud voice, and the tendency to over share. She was nice otherwise, but a bit too noisy for Toushiro's tastes, so he hadn't gone out of his way to be friendly. Well, he hadn't gone out of his way to be friendly with anyone really. He took a gulp of water, before attempting to smile and greet her and her family.

"I thought you only left your house for work," she joked.

Toushiro shrugged, trying not to get annoyed. "We had some business to take care of today."

Her eyes flickered to Ichigo and her face lit up. "Oh, is this your-"

"Ichigo," he cut her off gruffly, watching as her husband shifted uncomfortably behind her.

She smiled and offered her hand, "I'm Kate, but I'm sure you've heard about me from Toushiro."

Ichigo smiled politely, shaking her hand. "Of course. It's nice to meet you."

She introduced her husband and son, but rather than listening, Toushiro was silently wishing that she would leave. She did no such thing, forcing her husband to shake both of their hands as well. Toushiro had to finally turn and fully face her.

She gasped loudly, "What happened? Did you fall?"

Toushiro froze, remembering the bruise on his face and mentally scrambling for an excuse. Ichigo bumped his calf with the tip of his shoe, silently telling him to calm down.

"He uh... slipped on the stairs, nearly gave himself a concussion on the railing." Ichigo supplied.

Her eyebrows shot up, and Toushiro didn't miss the way she eyed Ichigo. "How-"

He sighed heavily, rubbing his none bruised temple. "We have hardwood and I was wearing socks." Ichigo's foot rubbed his leg.

She looked like she didn't believe them, but Toushiro was not in the mood to defend his story. It was admittedly weak, but plausible and she honestly had no grounds to argue it. So, he willed her away, gritting his teeth as she and Ichigo made polite conversation. Thankfully, she didn't stay much longer and Toushiro wondered how many people would know of his injury before Monday morning.

...

Neither of them wanted to go back home just yet, so they walked up and down a few streets, pretending to admire heavily decorated storefronts. Jack-o-lanterns had finally given way to turkeys a week ago.

"It's going to be strange not going to Yuzu's this year," Ichigo mused.

Toushiro hummed, "we could... I get a few days off."

"I already told her we wouldn't be coming... and Rukia kinda made me promise that we would have dinner with them. Their kids are coming home for the week."

He nodded. "Did she want us to make anything?"

Ichigo shrugged. "We can call her tonight."

"You didn't ask?"

"I... no?"

"That's the first thing you should have said. God, who raised you?"

Ichigo nudged him and chuckled. "My father is a very nice man, thank you very much."

Toushiro shook his head and wrapped his arm around Ichigo's waist. Ichigo rested his arm on his shoulder and pulled him into his side. It was a bit awkward to walk along the sidewalk like that, but neither cared. Rayle was pretty quiet for a Saturday, but the weather had probably kept everyone indoors. Toushiro couldn't feel his nose or cheeks any more, but it was better than going home.

"I had to... uh persuade my dad not to drive up here for thanksgiving." Ichigo sighed.

"By persuade you mean..."

"I said if he came here he'd spend the weekend outside. He started to cry."

Toushiro chuckled. "It's for his own good."

They halted their conversation as they sidestepped a woman buckling a young child into a car seat. Something tightened inside of him and he found himself turning his head to watch. Ichigo squeezed his shoulder and guided him past. He could feel Ichigo staring at him, but he didn't want to look up to see his face, so he focused on his feet.

"Shiro," Ichigo started carefully, "Do you think... would you want..." he broke off in a sigh then took a deep breath. Toushiro felt his chest expand against the side of his face. "Do you want to adopt-"

Toushiro shook his head quickly and pulled away from Ichigo's side. "I... I don't want to talk about that now."

Ichigo sighed softly. "When then?" he mumbled under his breath before reaching for him.

Toushiro ground his teeth. When? Maybe when he didn't feel like shit just thinking about what happened. Maybe when he didn't get nervous about driving in rain any more. Or when he didn't have to take medication. Ichigo managed to grab his arm and pull him back into his side.

"Okay, babe." He said, winding his arm around Toushiro's waist. "It was just a... passing thought."

Toushiro nodded, feeling a small part of him deflate.

* * *

**Well, now there's this. **

**Sorry for the delay. **

**-Mymomomo**


	15. Rekindle

Ichigo was having fun at a high school dance. He never would have thought that those words would have ever been in the same sentence, especially not this late in his life. The way Toushiro had described his co-workers had Ichigo thinking that they were a bunch of lunatics, but they were, in fact, very normal, enjoyable people. He and a few teachers stood near the gymnasium entrance watching – but not really watching – as the teenagers danced and mingled and did whatever high school kids did nowadays. Gabriel Heathers High, or as Ichigo learnt; GHH, was hosting a fall dance that evening and teachers usually chaperoned. When Ichigo heard that Toushiro had to take part, he insisted that he come along. So, he donned a nice button-down shirt and dark jeans and found himself surrounded by a few bored teachers.

"So, Toushiro tells us that you work at home?" Leigh, one of the 11th grade biology teachers, asked brightly.

Ichigo nodded. He could tell that the conversation was swinging his way, and Toushiro had probably given them next to nothing to go on. "Yeah, I used to work for Lucky Peach Magazine, but then one of my novels got picked up by Hollywood. So I'm just concentrating on personal writing now."

"You have a movie out?" Kyle, Ichigo couldn't remember what he taught, asked impressed.

"Well... two actually," Ichigo scratched the back of his neck. "And it's not really my movie; it's just based on my work."

"That's still impressive." Annabell, but please call me Annie (English lit teacher), grinned.

"It was just luck really. I had no idea people would like something as boring as historical crime fiction."

"But it must have been popular if it got a sequel."

Ichigo shrugged. "I yeah... well there are five books in the series. I'll start boasting when there's a movie for each of them."

They chuckled and Ichigo took a sip from his cup of overly-sweet punch and spied his husband near the refreshment table, he was rubbing his temple as he looked at the crowd of teenagers. Ichigo smiled, knowing that Toushiro was counting down the seconds until he could leave. Even from this distance he could tell that he was a bit anxious. Crowded, loud places never had been his thing. Ichigo had been surprised when he said that he had to chaperone the fall dance. Somehow the board had shucked that responsibility on to the teachers as well; they weren't even getting paid.

Eventually, Toushiro wandered over to them. Ichigo held out his arm and after sighing heavily Toushiro leaned into his side. Ichigo caught the way Annie eyed them and smiled in amusement.

"I think it's about time we start winding this down," Toushiro suggested.

"What time is it?" Leigh asked

"10:45."

"Yikes," Annie winced, "these kids should be at their after parties by now."

Ichigo chuckled. "You condone after parties."

She shrugged. "As long as they don't bring alcohol on school grounds, I don't care what they do."

He nudged Toushiro. "What do you have to say to that, Shiro?"

"She's right. We're teachers, not twenty-four hour baby sitters."

Leigh and Kyle nodded firmly.

"As soon as they set foot off school property, they're their parents' problem."

"Isn't that a bit cold?" Ichigo asked.

"Have you ever dealt with a classroom full of hormonal teenagers?"

"Well aren't you four just inspirational," Ichigo quipped.

"It's a noble profession," Kyle added.

Ichigo couldn't say no when they invited him and Toushiro to go out for drinks after that.

...

Ichigo rubbed Toushiro's shoulder as he adjusted the rear-view mirror of the truck. It was around two a.m. and Ichigo's head was spinning slightly. He hadn't been to that bar before, but he was sure going to visit it again soon. Maybe with Renji. Toushiro huffed softly, clenching the staring wheel tightly. He was nervous, Ichigo thought.

"I can drive-"

"You're drunk; I'm not letting you drive."

"I'm not-"

"Don't you start, Ichigo."

"It wasn't that much-"

Toushiro fixed him a flat stare. "I'll make you walk if you don't shut up."

"But you don't like driving big cars-"

"You're drunk."

Ichigo sighed and sat back. "'M not drunk."

Toushiro glanced over and ran a finger along his jaw. "You are very drunk."

Ichigo chuckled. "Nope. I'm fine. I don't know what you're talking about." He was maybe a little buzzed.

Toushiro snorted in amusement and started the car. Ichigo reclined the seat as the vibrations from the engine began to lull him to sleep and reached for Toushiro's hand on the gear shift. He clumsily turned his head. The light from outside lit up the side of Toushiro's face, illuminating his sparse eyebrows and eyelashes. Ichigo followed the slope of his nose, the swell of his lips, and his pointed chin before he felt his face break out into a wide smile.

"You're beautiful."

Toushiro hummed softly. "Go to sleep, Ichigo."

"Can't believe we're married." His mouth had a mind of its own. But he didn't want to stop it anyway. He had had a good night – with Toushiro, so it was a great night.

"Yup. Seven years."

"Seven? When did that happen?"

"In May."

He grinned. "What's your favourite thing about being married?"

Toushiro sighed heavily. "Ichigo..."

"You have to tell me."

"I don't know-"

"If I tell you, you have to tell me. I like telling you good morning and good night every day and when we cook together. And and when we brush our teeth together and get dressed... and drinking coffee. And sex, that's my favourite."

Toushiro chuckled.

"Now you have to tell me. You promised you'd tell me."

"Okay-"

"You promised."

"_Okay._ I, uh, I like all of those things too."

"No, you have to pick something special."

"I like waking up next to you-"

"That's boring. What about sex, do you like sex?"

"Ichigo..." he sighed again. "Yes."

"Good. It would suck if you didn't like it."

"Why's that?"

"Because I want to have sex with you."

He chuckled. "Well, you'll have to wait until we get home."

"I knooooooow."

Toushiro chuckled, shaking his head. "There's no such thing as boredom when you're around."

As he grinned he felt his eyelids start to droop, and it was hard to keep his head up. "I'm gonna sleep. G'night"

"Good night, Ichigo."

...

Ichigo grumbled as Toushiro gently shook him awake.

"Come on, Ichigo, we're home."

He sighed loudly and sat up. "Can't we just spend the night in the car?"

"I wish... but it's going to get cold. Come on." He opened the door and slid out.

Ichigo grumbled and followed. They stopped on the porch and Toushiro took a deep breath, reaching for one of the iron pokers they left by the front door. Ichigo chewed the inside of his cheek and grabbed Toushiro's hand before he could unlock the door. He pulled Toushiro close and wound his arms tightly around him. Toushiro dropped the poker and rested his arms on Ichigo's hips then leaned against his chest.

"Tonight was fun; we should do it again," Ichigo murmured.

"I'm not chaperoning any more dances..."

"I meant the other part. We should go out more."

"I suppose."

"You're co-workers are really nice. I don't see why you complain so much."

Toushiro huffed. "I never said they weren't nice; they're just nosey."

Ichigo chuckled and bent to kiss Toushiro's forehead. "It's called being friendly. They want to know more about you."

Toushiro grumbled. Ichigo hooked a finger under his chin and tilted his face upwards. "I just want you to be happy, baby, and having friends helps."

Toushiro rolled his eyes. "I have you."

Ichigo was stunned for a few seconds. Then he felt his chest tighten and warmth began to radiate from his stomach. Toushiro hadn't... it had been months since he'd admitted how much Ichigo meant to him. He leaned down to capture Toushiro's lips. Toushiro rose up onto his tiptoes and wound his arms around Ichigo's neck. The kiss was deep and long; neither of them cared that the cold night air was seeping into their jackets. Ichigo pulled Toushiro closer, his hands travelling all over his back and butt. Toushiro hummed, tugging gently at Ichigo's hair, as he pushed him against the front door, Toushiro's back hit the wood with a soft thud, and he bent lower running his hands along his thighs and squeezing the small bit of fat he still had there through his slacks.

Toushiro nibbled on his bottom lip and Ichigo opened his mouth, letting him take the lead. He pushed himself from the door and flush against Ichigo's body, tightening his arms. Ichigo picked him up, cradling his thighs and he hooked his legs around his waist. The small body against him just felt right; he was warm, beautiful, delicate, and just perfect. They pulled apart, breathing heavily through swollen lips. The front of Ichigo's jeans was a bit tight and he pressed a few kisses to the side of Toushiro's neck. Toushiro tilted his head to the side and ran his fingernails along Ichigo's scalp, gently massaging and playing with his hair. It sent small shivers of delight down Ichigo's spine and he knew exactly what he wanted that night.

"We should probably go inside now," Toushiro sighed.

"To the bedroom."

Toushiro swallowed thickly. "Yes."

He set Toushiro back on his feet and they kissed again, just as deeply until Toushiro patted Ichigo's chest and pulled away. "Wait until we're inside, okay?"

Ichigo chuckled. "Sorry, you're just so beautiful."

Toushiro blushed; his cheeks turned as red as his swollen lips. He picked up the poker and pulled out the keys from his pocket. "You keep saying that," he mumbled, "try looking at yourself next time."

Ichigo wasn't sure if he was supposed to have heard that or not, but his stomach fluttered and he grinned even as he picked up his own poker.

"Ready?" Toushiro asked as he turned the key. He pulled open the door and they stepped inside peering into the dark living room and kitchen briefly, pausing only for Toushiro to lock the door behind them, before running upstairs and down the hallway.

Adrenalin was pounding throughout Ichigo's body and as soon as they shut the door to their bedroom, he swept Toushiro onto the bed and kissed him fervently. Toushiro landed on the mattress with a soft 'oof' and barked a short chuckle before wrapping his arms around Ichigo.

"What has gotten into you tonight?" He asked as they parted for air, "apart from the alcohol."

Ichigo shrugged. The back of his head was still buzzing and his fingertips were tingling slightly, but all he could concentrate was on the gorgeous man lying beneath him. He kissed him again, a bit clumsily as their teeth bumped, but Toushiro didn't seem to mind. He deepened the kiss, prodding his tongue against Ichigo's.

"Are you up for this tonight?" Ichigo asked, panting when they broke apart.

Toushiro took a deep breath. "I... I think so?"

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. "That sounded like a question."

He bit his bottom lip and looked to the side. "I want you, but..."

"But what?"

"I don't know if... it's hard to explain. This medication is confusing. I want to, I really do, but at the same time I kind of don't."

"Oh." Ichigo felt a bit of him deflate, unfortunately not the part growing in his pants. "Okay, then we don't-"

"No. We can try. I owe you that at least."

"Baby, you don't owe me anything." He reached up and brushed his finger down the side of Toushiro's cheek. "If you don't feel up to sex, then we don't have to-"

Toushiro huffed and batted Ichigo's hand away. "I do."

His voice held all the certainty that Ichigo needed to give in. If it didn't work out then it didn't, but at least Toushiro was willing to try. He kissed him between his eyebrows and smoothed away the hair from his forehead. The bruise on the side of his face was a faint, yellowish splotch by now, even if the healed cut above his eyebrow was still very much visible. He kissed it as well. The corner of Toushiro's mouth quirked upwards and he pulled Ichigo closer to him, tightening his arms around his neck. Ichigo didn't want to rest his full weight on him, not only would he break, but he wasn't the most comfortable person to lie on in his current state. He hoisted him further up the bed by his armpits and nudged his legs apart to settle between them. Toushiro looked slightly disgruntled from being moved like that, but he quickly forgave Ichigo when he nuzzled his neck before pressing their lips together. Toushiro's hands snuck under his clothes and he dragged his nails along his spine, pressing his fingertips into the muscles. Ichigo regretted that he chose to wear jeans.

"We have on way too many clothes right now," he mumbled.

They still had on shoes and coats. Toushiro chuckled, as he simultaneously kicked off his shoes and tugged Ichigo's jacket down his shoulders. They made a messy pile of clothes at the side of the bed then came back together, naked.

They stared at each other for a while. Ichigo's chest was heaving both because he was excited and incredibly turned on. Toushiro propped his back against the headboard, with an expression that Ichigo hadn't seen in ages. He looked happy, playful even, and for a minute he forgot about everything else. When Toushiro brought a hand to cup his cheek he could barely feel the slight tremor.

"It's taking all I have not to jump on you right now," he said, leaning into Toushiro's palm.

Toushiro smirked. "Who's telling you to stop yourself?"

...

They hadn't quite fallen asleep yet. It had been too cold to lie in bed naked, even under the sheets, so they had gotten up and decided just to get ready for bed while they were at it. Toushiro was pressed firmly into his front, clutching at the arm Ichigo had thrown over him. Ichigo was pressing soft, lazy kisses to the back of his neck just because he could.

"It's really windy tonight," Toushiro mumbled as the wind howled outside.

Ichigo craned his neck to look at the window. He could see a few branches lashing back and forth in the darkness. Hopefully the tree wouldn't fall over and hit the side of the house –

He cut his train of thought and slowly sat up, his stomach dropping as he squinted in the darkness. The curtain was swaying gently. He frowned. That couldn't be; the air vent was on the opposite wall and he was sure that the window was shut tightly. They only way that it could be moving was from a cross-breeze... a cross-breeze from the vent in the hallway, but that could only happen if the door was open. He swallowed thickly.

"Ichigo?" Toushiro asked as he got up.

He didn't know what to say not to make him worry. "I'm just going to check something."

Toushiro sat up as well. Ichigo toed his way to the door and hissed softly; it was open. Not fully, but halfway, which was more frightening in his mind.

"Ichigo?"

He swore internally and inched closer to the door. A frigid breeze blew in from the hallway and Ichigo's heart thudded heavily and frantically. The ghost was out there. But he tried to calm himself; it couldn't cross the salt –

He felt something grainy stick to the bottom of his bare feet and all the blood drained from his face. They should have glued it down. He swallowed, but his mouth had gone dry and the saliva stuck in his throat. He almost didn't dare to look down. But he had to. He had to check if they were in danger or not. He bit his bottom lip and held his breath, slowly shuffling to peer around the door. Cold dread washed over him, like someone had poured a bucket of Ice over his head.

"Shiro, I need you to stay in bed."

"What's wrong?"

Should he tell him? He wanted to save Toushiro from the worry, but he had to protect himself if and when things got difficult. "The salt line is broken. The wind blew it away." He had to fight to keep his voice calm.

He heard the sheets rustle as Toushiro slid out of bed. "Is the ghost in here?"

"I don't know."

Toushiro was silent then he heard the sound of iron dragging against wood. "We need to get to the kitchen." He pressed a poker into Ichigo's hand.

Ichigo swallowed again and eyed the dark hallway. The ghost must have known that the line was broken. It had been there for over a month, with the air vent blowing, and the salt had stayed in place until now. It seemed a bit strange to Ichigo. The ghost had probably done something, blown it away somehow.

"Is it out there?" Toushiro asked.

"Probably." Even as he spoke he could see his breath begin to condense in front of his face. At first it was just a wisp, then a cloud, and then the whole room felt like ice.

He felt Toushiro clutch the back of his shirt, as a gale of wind tore through the room, blowing the door open with a bang. He couldn't see the ghost, but after that there was no doubt that it was around them somewhere. They could either be running straight at it by trying to get to the kitchen or it was already in the room with them. He didn't know what to do.

"The kitchen, Ichigo," Toushiro whispered.

Okay, that was that decided, then. He peered down the hallway and took a deep breath. Raising the poker to his chest, he took a step forward. Toushiro held on to his shirt as they slowly made their way to the stairs. The rest of the house was like a freezer; he was sure that there was frost on the banister.

The ghost wasn't in the hallway, it seemed. They made it to the stairs, Toushiro's toes softly bumping into his heels. It was the absence of the ghost that put Ichigo on edge. It was there somewhere, it had to be. Curtains were fluttering and the hanging lights were swinging back and forth. It was somewhere near; he just couldn't see it.

He looked over his shoulder at Toushiro. He had the back of his shirt balled in one hand and the other held the poker. They were both shaking violently. He looked up at Ichigo, his eyes wide and frightened. Ichigo was about to say something, to attempt to comfort him, when he squinted at something past his shoulder.

Ichigo spun around as soon as he smelt the rancid odour of decay. He heard Toushiro scream as his back hit the wall and a sandpapery, ice cube of a hand closed around his neck and he was forced to his knees. He coughed and gagged, the smell was overwhelming, but he quickly realised that there wasn't anything he could do; he had dropped the poker and it had rolled down the stairs, he heard the rhythmic, metallic clangs, before the muffled thud as it hit the mat at the foot of the staircase, with his hope for getting out of the house alive. The pressure building in his head, as the ghost cut off both oxygen and blood flow, was killing most of his coherent thoughts. He couldn't see much in the dark, but its face, twisted and maniacal with clouded eyes and a gruesome, black smile, was strangely in focus. He tried to pry the hands from his neck, gagging anew as the rotten flesh seemed to move under his grasp, but the ghost didn't budge. Even when he kicked its stomach hard enough that a normal person would have lost their lunch, it didn't flinch.

Then Toushiro swung his poker, Ichigo caught the movement in the corner of his dancing vision, and just about missed. The tip grazed the ghost's ear. Ichigo, cursed his luck, frustration mounting with the lack of oxygen. Toushiro had taken out his contacts. He wasn't wearing his glasses. He couldn't see.

"Further," he managed to choke out.

"I'll hit you." He sounded like he was on the verge of tears, but swung once more. He missed again and a shiver ran down Ichigo's spine when he saw the ghost's eyes flicker to his husband. He heard the thud and felt the wall shake, before he even saw Toushiro crash into it. But he did see when his body hit the stairs and his head sagged against his chest, lifeless like a doll.

"Shiro?" he garbled, his head was about to explode. His ears were ringing and his eyes were pushing themselves out of their sockets. Still he reached towards him. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. Not like this. No. His fingertips brushed against something cold and heavy. Toushiro's poker, still rested in his open palm.

The red Ichigo saw might have been from the blood accumulating in his head, or it might have been from anger. He remembered grabbing the poker and swinging it for all he was worth. Then he was outside. Toushiro was pressed against his chest and the poker under his armpit, and he was running through the woods that surrounded the property.

He looked around, trying to regain his bearings and heaved a few great breaths, choking and coughing as tiny hot tears sprung to his eyes. Toushiro was unmoving against him and Ichigo collapsed to his knees. He was going to vomit. He retched over Toushiro's shoulder; his throat felt both like it was going to spit open, and like he had swallowed sandpaper and rusty nails.

"Shiro?" he coughed, when he stopped dry heaving. His voice was terribly hoarse, and it hurt to speak, to breathe even.

"Toushiro, baby?" He didn't dear let him go and took a shuddering breath while feeling for a pulse. It was there. He curled around his husband, cradling his head in one of his hands and trying to hold him as tightly as he possibly could. He couldn't help the wetness that sprung to his eyes. He had almost lost him. He had thought he was dead. Shudders ran though Ichigo's body, he had been so scared. Toushiro's body hitting the floor had been like a sledge hammer to his insides. He couldn't lose his husband too. He didn't know what he would do if Toushiro died. His stomach clenched tightly and he felt fat tears leak from his eyes. He wouldn't have been able to live if Toushiro was gone as well.

He sniffled, pressing his face against the side of Toushiro's neck and breathed deeply. It was soft and warm; he was still alive, he reminded himself. It was okay. They were okay. They were going to be okay. He swallowed, wincing at a jab of pain that shot through his throat, and allowed himself a few minutes to calm down. He wiped his nose, and then the rest of his face with his shirt sleeve then stood up and glanced around. He could still see the house, it was only partially obscured by the trees, but he was as sure as hell not going back anywhere near there. But it was freezing and neither of them were dressed to be outside, he wasn't even wearing shoes. He could get the car... but they keys were in the house. He swore and pulled Toushiro tighter against his chest. They needed somewhere to go.

So, he cursed again and began jogging, ignoring all the twigs and rocks that jammed the soles of his feet and prayed that he didn't get frost bite. He could do one mile in around seven minutes, and the Abarais lived about three miles away. He had done ten k marathons before. Three miles was only like 4 and some kilometres. Toushiro was counting on him this time however. He clenched his jaw and powered on, hoping that he had run out of bad luck for the night and that the properties were connected.

It took him almost thirty minutes to get there. He couldn't feel his feet and he knew that he was violently trembling. He couldn't feel that either. He had no idea what condition Toushiro was in and that made him panic. It was probably panic that was keeping on his feet at this point.

Renji answered the door, holding a shot gun in one hand, and an expression to kill on his face. "Ichigo?" His snarl fell and he opened the door to let them in.

Ichigo collapsed to his knees, nearly dropping Toushiro. Renji dove to the ground after him, helping him back up and inside. "What the hell happened? You're freezing."

"Th-thanks," he could barely speak. His face was numb, yet his throat still hurt.

"Is that Ichigo?" Rukia asked, flicking on the lights and hugging her house coat tightly around her.

Renji nodded, "We need sweaters and blankets asap, help him upstairs to the shower, no use the tub in our bathroom. I think he might have hypothermia."

Her face paled as Renji wormed Toushiro out of Ichigo's arms.

"Is he..." Rukia gasped, as she brought one of Ichigo's arms over the back of her shoulders.

"No," Ichigo coughed, panic rising in his chest for a second.

Renji shook his head. "He's breathing... just unconscious." He eyed Ichigo in disbelief and began to hurry upstairs. Rukia followed, supporting as much of Ichigo's weight as she could.

Ichigo watched as Renji cradled his husband like a child. He looked so tiny, against Renji's chest. So tiny and pale. His eyes stung anew and he had to remind himself that they had gotten out alive. They were going to be okay. He coughed again.

"He's lighter than you, Rukia," Renji mumbled, obviously trying to make a joke, but unable to get past the situation at hand. Ichigo tried to smile in appreciation at the attempt, but since he couldn't' feel his face he wasn't sure what it looked like. Renji laid Toushiro on their bed and began wrapping him in blankets, as Rukia led Ichigo to the bathroom and bodily shoved him into the tub, clothes and all, then turned on the water. He hissed as it hit his frozen limbs, causing his skin to prickle and burn. Rukia smoothed his hair from his face and stared at him with nothing but concern in her violet eyes.

Ichigo knew that he'd have a hell of a time trying to explain all this, but right now he was just immensely glad that he had made friends with the Abarais.

* * *

**Had to make things cute and cuddly before it all goes to hell :} **

**There's an explicit version on my tumblr - check out my profile for the link. **

**As always, reviews are both welcome and encouraged. **

**\- Mymomomo**


	16. Picking Scars

**I think you guys have waited long enough for this update. **

* * *

Toushiro woke up to the soft sounds of people moving around the house. He jerked upright and instantly regretted it as a wave of nausea rushed over him and his head began to throb. He groaned softly, pressing his fingertips to his temples and wishing that he had remembered what had taken place last night _before_ he had sat up.

"Hey, Shiro," Ichigo soothed, rubbing his back, "don't move so suddenly; you have a concussion."

"I know," he grumbled.

He had woken up last night swaddled like an infant in one of the Abarais' comforters. Ichigo was walking out of the shower and both Renji and Rukia were fussing over him. He was understandably confused and he felt like he was going to throw up. He had managed to stay awake while Ichigo donned three layers of sweatshirts and the Abarais ushered them to their guest room. Then Ichigo had explained how he had run about three miles in an old t-shirt and boxer shorts in freezing weather. He didn't know how to react upon hearing that; he was relieved that they had escaped the ghost with their lives, but Ichigo had run three miles in freezing temperatures. He was a bit annoyed with his recklessness, but he had to commend him for his quick thinking, even if it put them into even more debt with the Abarais.

He turned to Ichigo, squinting at the orange blob that lay alongside him. "How're you feeling?"

Ichigo sighed. "Tired... I didn't sleep."

Toushiro breathed deeply and reached out to run his fingers through his hair. His knuckles gently bumped against Ichigo's forehead before he brushed his hair back. "You are unbelievable, you know that, right?"

"It wasn't my fault..."

"I meant how your insane ass ran three miles to get here." he leaned forward to press his lips to Ichigo's forehead. "Thank you, love."

He heard Ichigo draw in a sharp breath and at once his arms came to wrap around him. Toushiro rested his head in the space between Ichigo neck and shoulder and breathed in deeply. Ichigo had saved his life twice now. He swallowed deeply against the nausea and covered his mouth with his palm. It was his own fault that they were still in that death-trap of a house. Ichigo was the one who was actively trying to keep them safe, while he had done nothing. He didn't deserve Ichigo. His throat grew tight just as his stomach revolted and he gagged. He pushed away from Ichigo as he tasted bile at the back of this throat. He made it to the edge of the bed, toes just brushing the top of the shaggy rug before he got his stomach to settle somewhat, but the sudden movement had made his head begin to throb again. God, he was useless.

Ichigo followed him, rubbing his back. "Let's get something for that nausea," he suggested. He slipped off Toushiro's side of the bed, gently holding his hand. Toushiro's feet hit the floor, just as Ichigo pulled him into his chest and rubbed large circles between his shoulder blades. "It's gonna be okay, baby."

Toushiro swallowed again. "What are we going to do now?"

Ichigo sighed. "I'll tell you when I figure it out."

He led Toushiro into the kitchen and pulled out a chair for him to sit so he wouldn't bump into anything or knock something over.

"You okay, Toushiro?" he heard Renji ask.

"Yes, thank you," he mumbled looking in his general direction. He cursed how everything in the Abarai's house was white. It made Renji and Ichigo easier to spot, but that meant he could barely tell what was wall and what wasn't.

"What can I get you for breakfast? Rukia's already gone to work."

Toushiro swore softly. "What time is it?"

"Seven thirty."

Toushiro groaned.

"You're not going to school in this state, Shiro," Ichigo reprimanded. "I thought you didn't have to work today."

"The students have the day off," he grumbled, rubbing his forehead, "We have development meetings today. I need to call in..."

"Here, you can use my phone," Renji offered. He slid it across the table to him. He sighed softly, looking at the black smudge on the table, before Ichigo picked it up and asked for the number. He knew that Renji was staring at him; he could feel the heat from his gaze.

"I usually wear contacts," he explained before Ichigo could jump in. "I'm pretty much blind without them."

"Oh," Renji seemed a bit taken aback. "Nearsighted?"

"Severely."

Ichigo handed him the phone when it began to ring. Rachel answered, somehow managing to make the scripted greeting sound cheerful.

He clear his throat, "Good morning, Rachel, it's Toushiro... Kurosaki-"

"Oh, Toushiro, you had everyone worried, you're usually so early. Is everything alright?"

"I uh... I'm calling in sick, uh concussion-"

"You have a concussion! What happened?"

He swore internally. He should have just said he had a cold. "I... uh... I slipped... in the show...er." God, why was he so bad at this? Ichigo snorted.

Rachel was silent for a minute. "You sure do get hurt a lot."

There was a double meaning to that sentence. He ignored the second meaning. "Yeah... clumsy."

"Is everything okay, Toushiro?"

He hesitated for a while, not wanting to believe what she was insinuating. He was on the verge of hanging up.

"I mean you had that nasty bruise a few weeks ago, and I remember when you had your hand bandaged not too long ago either... a few of us are worried-"

Toushiro ground his teeth, feeling both Renji's and Ichigo's gazes on him. "You shouldn't be, and frankly I'm offended that you even think that; you've met my husband." Ichigo grunted softly as Rachel began to apologise profusely, but he cut her off, "I also fail to see how any of this is your problem; we're colleagues and nothing more. Unless you're trying to get rid of me, I'm sure you understand how precarious my position at the school is." He took a deep breath; he was getting too worked up and he didn't need to have a shouting match with his secretary over the phone. "I'm just calling to inform you that I'm not coming in today, but I will be back on Monday. Goodbye."

He pushed the red blotch on the screen and slid the phone back to Renji. "Thank you. I didn't intend for that to take so long."

"Uh-"

"What was that about?" Ichigo asked solemnly as he sat down next to him.

"It was exactly what it sounded like." He rubbed his temples. "Shit. I'm going to get fired."

He could feel Ichigo tense. "You're not. They can't – Renji,"

"Uhhh," Renji's voice sounded distant, like he had been trying to leave the room.

"You're impartial-"

"Ichigo, no," Toushiro grumbled.

"Do you think I'm abusing Toushiro?"

"What? No... I..." Renji groaned. "Okay first of all, I'm no way impartial; I'm way too involved in you guys' lives. And secondly of course not, I know you. Anyone who knows you would never think that..."

"But?" Toushiro grumbled.

Renji sighed and he heard a chair screech as he sat down at the breakfast table as well. "You have been getting hurt at lot, Toushiro. You are the furthest thing from clumsy... I mean with your contacts of course. And I honestly want to ask you guys about that. I didn't because it was none of my business, but you came to my house at four am this morning... and I'm worried."

"Seriously-"

"I can see the bruises on your neck, Ichigo. The only reason why I'm not at the two of you right now, or calling the police is because Toushiro's hands are way too small to have made them."

Toushiro clenched his jaw tightly. He already knew that Renji would always favour Ichigo over him; it made no sense to get mad at it. He took a deep breath again, wishing that his head would stop hurting.

Ichigo huffed. "We do owe you an explanation..."

Toushiro turned to him. Ichigo wasn't even going to try to defend him? Renji had just implied he would be deranged enough to hurt his own husband - right after denying that Ichigo had done the same thing. Unbelievable. He sat back, grinding his teeth.

"Yeah, you do," Renji sighed.

"It's a long story." Ichigo offered.

"I'm not going to work today."

"You probably won't believe us anyway."

"Try me."

There was an awkward pause where none of them knew what to say. Toushiro tried to swallow his rising anger; this was neither the time nor place for it. He took a deep breath, shaking his head as if that would help dissipate his emotions, and glanced from Ichigo to Renji. They had to tell him what was going on; they had no choice now. He really really didn't want to involve anyone else in this, but if Renji would call the cops... that was the last thing he really needed. He ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the way it visibly shook.

"Tell him, Ichigo," he muttered.

He was sure that surprised was written all over his husband's face.

"You sure?"

He took a deep breath through his nose. "Look at where we are right now."

"Right," Ichigo sighed heavily. "Do you believe in ghosts, Renji?"

Renji was silent for a few minutes "Are you serious?"

"As unrealistic as it sounds, yes, I am."

"Can you prove it?"

"The marks on my neck, Shiro's concussion... is that not enough?"

"That could have been anything."

Ichigo shook his head and sighed heavily. "Okay fine-"

"Ichigo, no," Toushiro cut him off, "You're not brining him to the house."

"He wants proof."

"It's dangerous!"

"You two are really serious about this..." Renji muttered, "Is your house haunted, or something?"

"We think so," Ichigo answered, perching his elbows on the table.

"O...kay..."

Ichigo took a deep breath. "Things have happened in there. People have been murdered; it's been a shitshow in there for the past century."

"Why would you think it's haunted."

"We've seen the ghost, Renji, and it's dangerous. It sent me to the hospital and Shiro's been injured on five different occasions."

There was another long silence.

"I want to believe you guys... Ichigo, you're a really good friend, but seriously a ghost?"

Ichigo breathed out heavily through his nose. "I know it's a lot to ask of you and I promise that we're telling the truth."

Renji tugged at his pony tail then rubbed his forehead. "Fine then, I need to see it."

Toushiro drew in a sharp breath. "Didn't you hear me? It's dangerous-"

"Shiro," Ichigo cut him off with a hand on his shoulder.

He shrugged it off. "You both will get hurt."

"We won't."

He shook his head. "No."

"Toushiro," Renji spoke up, "We can handle ourselves."

"You don't even know what we're talking about."

Ichigo put his hand back on his shoulder. "We'll be careful, besides we need to get some things anyway. I'm sure you don't want to spend the day in your pyjamas? And you need your glasses."

"Fine then, I'm coming too."

Ichigo groaned softly. "You can't."

"If you're putting yourself in danger-"

"You're blind, Shiro, you'll only get in the way."

Toushiro closed his mouth with a snap. He didn't have to put it like that. Ichigo took his silence as agreement – he stood up.

"Alright Renji, we'll need to get a few things together before we go. Do you have anything made of solid iron? And salt, we'll need a lot of salt."

...

Ichigo had set him on the couch before he and Renji went out to the car. Toushiro pulled his knees to his chest and set his chin on top of them. His eyes stung and he held his breath until he heard Renji drive off, the sound of the car fading into the distance. He bit his bottom lip, staring in the general direction of the Abarais' Television, the only bit of colour in the white room. Ichigo had turned it on for him, so that the house wouldn't be dead silent. Irena – the maid – wasn't working that day.

He sat silently for a few minutes staring at the television. Renji had left a bottle of Pepto-Bismol on the coffee table, a few painkillers for his headache, a glass of water, and a couple slices of buttered toast. He took a deep breath before pressing his forehead to his knees and shutting his eyes. They would be okay; they would be back in a few hours, maybe even less than that. Ichigo would have Renji watching his back; they knew how to fight. And yet, he couldn't get himself to calm down. His head was spinning; he even felt the couch sway beneath him. He took another deep breath and reached for the Pepto-Bismol. They were going to be okay, he shouldn't be worried.

He lay on his side and pulled a fleece blanket over his shoulders. TV was on a news channel and the anchor droned monotonously on. Screw that, he had every right to be worried. He and Ichigo had barely escaped with their lives last night and his idiot husband had wanted to go back to prove to his friend that he was telling the truth. He huffed, rubbing his temples. Ichigo had better not get hurt... again.

He shook his head; all they had to do was re-draw the salt lines. The kitchen was still safe. It wasn't that big of a deal. They had been handling the ghost for months now; this had just been a setback. Ichigo had just panicked, that's all. They hadn't really needed to come to the Abarais'. If Ichigo had managed to keep a level head they could have figured out a way to safely get back inside. Toushiro bit the inside of his cheek, ignoring the part of him that was saying Ichigo had done what he could. He had been unconscious, and had no right to say that Ichigo hadn't been thinking. He felt his stomach churn and he reached for one of the throw pillows to prop his head up. One hit from the ghost and he had gone down. Useless. He was a literal waste of time. He couldn't even land a hit when it had been less than two feet away from him. No wonder Ichigo hadn't wanted his help this time. He never wanted his help. His chest clenched and he buried his face into the pillow. He was useless. Everyone could see he was useless. His co-workers, the Abarais. It was more than obvious to Renji; he was right to make all the snide comments, and Ichigo was right in not defending him.

No. He forced himself to sit up and dragged his hands down his face. That was his depression speaking. It would not win, not this time. Renji had no right to make that comment, and it was a reasonable thing to get mad at. He would talk to Ichigo when they got back; he would justify his feelings before they got out of hand. He would act like a human being. He took a deep breath and reached for a piece of toast.

Ichigo and Renji came back less than an hour later. Renji was shouting something as they walked through the front door, but cut himself off as they entered. Toushiro let out a deep sigh of relief and stood up from the couch. He took a few careful steps towards them only to have Ichigo nearly run towards him and envelop him in a tight hug. That was all he needed to know that the ghost had attacked them.

"Are you both okay?" he asked.

Ichigo nodded and he heard Renji stomp over to the couch and flop onto the cushions. "Well fuck."

Ichigo snorted.

"What happened?"

"We got all our stuff," Ichigo answered, "but it attacked us as we were leaving."

"Bastard bit me," Renji added.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'll go dress it in a bit, but what the fuck? You guys were living with that for how long? Why are you still in there?"

Ichigo breathed deeply through his nose and let go of Toushiro. He sat down next to Renji. "We can't afford to move."

Toushiro's stomach bubbled again, and he wrapped his arms around it.

"Screw that. How much do you need?"

Ichigo grunted, "Renji-"

"I'm serious; you are not going back to that house. You can stay here."

"We have to. It's our house."

"I don't give a damn! A fucking ghost nearly bit off my finger and you expect me to let you go back there?"

"It isn't your place to tell us what we can or can't do," Toushiro snapped.

Renji spun to face him. "Right. Excuse me for caring about you guys' safety, princess-"

"Hey, Renji," Ichigo cut him off gruffly and shook his head.

Renji grumbled and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine, whatever. I need a drink." He stood up. "You coming, Ichigo?"

"Actually," Toushiro said, narrowing his eyes, "Ichigo and I need to talk."

Renji snorted. "Okay, then we'll go _later_." He stomped upstairs and they heard a few doors slam shut.

Ichigo sighed deeply. "You could have just gone with it, you know, he was just trying to help."

"I can't... he's not..."Toushiro ended with a frustrated growl.

Ichigo reached into his pocket and handed something to him. "Here."

His glasses. He put them on, nearly sighing in relief as everything came into focus once more. "Thanks."

Ichigo nodded, but his expression was grim. "What did you want to talk about?"

He glanced quickly to the stairs. "Let's go outside."

Ichigo frowned slightly, but followed him to the deck.

It was chilly; the smooth wood was cold under Toushiro's feet and the air bit through his t-shirt. Ichigo was dressed a bit better, in jeans, a sweater and a jacket – he'd changed back at the house. He leaned against the back of a pool chair and stared at the teal pool cover. A few brown leaves had gathered in the centre.

"So..." Ichigo trailed off, coming to stand next to him and drape his jacket over Toushiro's shoulders.

Toushiro sighed and pulled the jacket around him. It smelt heavily of Ichigo and he nuzzled his nose into the collar.

"We can't' stay here," he mumbled, "I don't want to impose on them."

"Our home isn't exactly the best place right now, babe."

"I know, but we can manage, right?"

Ichigo scratched the back of his neck. "I thought we could, but I'm not so sure now."

"We just need to fix the salt."

"We need to fix a lot more than that."

Toushiro paused. Was Ichigo mad at him? "What do you mean by that?"

Ichigo shook his head, moving to sit on the chair that Toushiro was leaning against. He clasped his hands over his knees. "Are you really okay with living in a haunted house? 'Cause I'm not."

"We've managed up until now."

Ichigo sighed. "Shiro, I'm scared. You nearly died last night. I thought I was going to die last night. I'm not going back there."

"We can't stay here."

"We can. Renji offered."

Toushiro shook his head. "It feels wrong, just staying in a stranger's house."

"Strangers? They're our _friends_."

"Your friends maybe..."

Ichigo groaned. "What is wrong with you? Why are you so scared of letting people get close to you?"

Toushiro blinked, slightly stunned at where the conversation was going. "I..."

Ichigo sighed harshly, "You can't survive like this. Maybe you could get away with it in San Francisco, but not here. Not in this small town. You're scared that people will talk, but they'll talk about how you're always so cold and distant. You barely talk to your co-workers, you freaking snapped at Rachel!"

"Because she was assuming that _you_ were abusing me – I defended you!"

Ichigo rubbed his forehead. "Because she cares about you-"

"So you were okay with her insinuating that?" Toushiro asked incredulously, backing up from the chair."

"Of course not. But I'm sure she wouldn't have asked if you weren't so closed off all the time and – I don't know – maybe told them a bit about our personal life."

Toushiro scoffed. "Yeah, because that's going so well."

"You know what I meant."

Toushiro folded his arms across his chest. "At least I defended you. You just let Renji make that comment; you didn't even flinch."

Ichigo frowned. "I told him to stop."

"Not that. When he said that the only reason he wasn't calling the police was because my hands didn't match the marks on your neck."

Ichigo stared at him, raising an eyebrow.

Toushiro ground his teeth, his chest tightening. He wished that he had taken the pain killers, because his headache was growing as well. "Okay. Well, I guess I'm just always the bad guy then."

"Renji says a lot of dumb things; I'm sure he didn't mean it that way."

"There was no other way he could have meant it. Forgive me for not considering him a 'friend'."

"Shiro... you're over thinking it. It was a harmless comment."

"No, it wasn't."

"We can go ask him. He didn't mean it like that."

"We're not asking him! That's not even the point!" His eyes were stinging now.

Ichigo huffed in frustration. "Then what is?"

He took a deep breath, blinking furiously. "We can't stay here."

"We can't go home-"

"It's obvious that I'm not welcome here – Renji hates me!"

"He doesn't hate you, baby." Ichigo stood, coming over to him.

"He does."

"He just doesn't understand what you're going through. I've tried to explain what happened-"

Toushiro felt his stomach sink. "What? What did you tell him?" Did the Abarai's know about what happened in San Francisco? About how he killed his son?

Ichigo sighed softly, pinching the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyes shut. "It's not a secret. I told him about Ken, about the accident, and about your depression."

Toushiro felt strangely betrayed. Ichigo was right; they weren't necessarily secrets, but he wasn't comfortable talking about any of those things, especially not to people he'd only known for a few months. "Y-you can't... You can't go just telling our personal business to strangers, Ichigo!"

"Renji and Rukia aren't strangers!"

Toushiro stared at Ichigo his mouth open to speak. But it was then he realised that Ichigo, impossibly adaptive Ichigo, had managed to build himself a new life. He wasn't completely the same man that he was a few months ago. It just hit him, Ichigo had managed to move on and he had somehow left him behind. Toushiro shut his mouth. No, that was his own fault. Ichigo had tried to drag him along; he chose to stay behind. He couldn't keep up with him. He had tried, but he really couldn't. He realised that now. His eyes stung anew and his vision grew glassy once more.

"Fine." He had to fight to keep his voice from trembling. "_You_ can stay here, with _your friends_." He turned to leave, sliding the door to the living room open.

Ichigo grabbed his arm, roughly pulling him back. "And where will you go? Are you insane?"

Toushiro yanked his arm from Ichigo's grasp. "Yes, I'm fucking crazy!"

"You can't go back to that house!"

"I'm not staying here!"

Ichigo's face had turned red from shouting and he looked like he was struggling to hold himself back. "Renji offered to help us. They care about us. They want to help."

"They care. About. You."

Ichigo threw his hands up in defeat. "Oh my god, what is wrong with you? Are you so messed up that you can't even tell when someone cares? Did you dad fuck you up so badly that to this day you think that everyone is trying to screw you over? Because, this is new, most people aren't complete assholes!"

Toushiro recoiled, stepping back to the door. Even with his glasses his vision was too blurry to see and he felt hot tears run down his cheeks. "Are you done?" He asked shakily as he roughly wiped his face. "'Cause I'm leaving."

Ichigo growled. "Fine. Go! You're fucking suicidal anyway."

Ichigo might as well have slapped him across the face. He turned back around, to see Ichigo's enraged expression drop instantly.

"I-is that what you really think? That I want to kill myself?"

"I'm not even sure anymore. We haven't talked, I mean really talked, since Ken died. I don't know what you want, sometimes I feel like I don't know _you_. You. My husband. I thought you were getting better. I don't know, Toushiro. I don't know what's going on."

"Oh."

Ichigo clenched his fists. "Oh? Is that all you have to say? After all that? I want to help you, I want to move past this, but you're stuck in the past and you're refusing to move forward."

So, Ichigo felt that way too. Toushiro felt his inside crumble.

Ichigo continued not noticing how Toushiro was nearly falling apart. Or maybe he did, but he wanted to get what he was saying out first. "I don't want to be stuck in such a shitty moment; I want things to get better." He sighed deeply, grabbing a fistful of his hair. "But you keep on shutting me out. Sometimes I think that we're after completely different things and I don't understand it."

Toushiro stared at his feet. His toes were blue from the cold and his legs were covered in goose bumps. His insides felt the same way. He sniffled, letting Ichigo's jacket fall from his shoulders and shuffled to the door. He wiped his face again as he stepped back inside.

"Okay," he voice was soft and weak, threatening to break. "Well... then... we probably shouldn't be together."

Ichigo's feet thudded against the deck as he ran up to him. "Toushiro-"

He stepped away from him. "Did you bring back any of my stuff?"

Ichigo had dropped an overnight bag by the couch and he knelt to rummage in it for his things. A few shirts, some pants, a toothbrush and razor, and his medication.

"Toushiro." Ichigo was still at the door, a cold wind blew into the house, causing his sweater to billow around him.

Toushiro took a deep breath, but it didn't do him any good. "Where are the keys?"

"No. You're not leaving."

"Where are they?"

"No."

"Damnit, Ichigo! Where are they?"

"You're not going anywhere!"

"Hey," Renji suddenly appeared on the staircase, frowning, concerned. He glanced from Ichigo to Toushiro. "What's going on?"

"It has nothing to do with you," Toushiro snarled, spying Ichigo's car keys and the house keys on the coffee table. He grabbed them and bundled up his clothes.

"Toushiro thinks he's going back to that house," Ichigo spat.

"What, that's insane," Renji spluttered. "I said you guys can stay here."

Toushiro ground his teeth and marched to the front door.

"Don't be stupid, Toushiro," Renji called after him.

"Ichigo can tell you about how stupid I really am."

"Shiro! You can't go!" Ichigo yelled.

He spun around when he reached the door. "Watch me."

Ichigo had gone from angry red to a pale green. "No, you can't leave me."

Renji drew in a sharp breath.

Toushiro laughed humourlessly. "I thought that so as well." He turned around and yanked the door open. "Don't bother calling."

He made it halfway back to the house before he had to pull over. He hadn't cried this hard in months.

* * *

**So, remember when I said the boys weren't out of the woods yet? **

**The ghost isn't their only problem :) I know, I'm a terrible person. **

**Anyway, as always, reviews are welcome and greatly appreciated. **

**-Mymomomo**


	17. Dry Bones

It started to snow during the second week of December. It started falling during the night and continued for three days straight. It was too cold for Ichigo to go jogging, so he did body weight exercises in his room and forced Renji to go with him to the gym at the community centre three times a week. Rukia was pleased by that; she had taken to poking at Renji's stomach when he sat down to annoy him. He wasn't fat; just a little pudgy around the middle. To stop Rukia's nagging about his health, he asked Ichigo for help. Ichigo dove right into the challenge; it took his mind off of things in a way working on his novel couldn't, and he had a feeling that was the real reason why Renji asked. He planed his diet, came up with a workout schedule, even helped Irene cook and taught her how to make healthier substitutions. Admittedly, Rukia was now obsessed with quinoa and coconut oil. Renji hated it, and despite Ichigo's best efforts he still managed to sneak junk food while he was at work.

He could only hope that Toushiro was taking care of himself, eating properly or at all. He shuddered at the thought of what would happen if he lost more weight.

Ichigo and Renji had gone to the house a few days after Toushiro had left to see if they could convince him to come back. Ichigo had been worried sick until then, unable to sleep or eat, thinking of all the terrible things that could happen to his husband. He was a frazzled mess and Renji tried his best calm him down. They both knew that Toushiro was smart and could handle himself. He wouldn't do anything stupid, even though he had willingly gone back. Ichigo could tell that there were a few scathing comments that Renji was itching to let loose, but he kept them to himself, thankfully. He'd replayed the conversation they had both at the kitchen table and on the patio over and over in his head. He'd been frustrated and angry, at their situation and at Toushiro. But he hadn't meant for it to get out of hand like that. He shouldn't have said half the things that he did; they made him feel sick now.

Surprisingly, Toushiro answered the door. Ichigo had expected him not to. He looked haggard; his hair was a mess and he hadn't shaved in a few days, and, wrapped in a large terry-cloth bathrobe, he looked even smaller than he had when they last saw each other. Ichigo itched to run to him, to hold him and nurse him better. Toushiro had eyed them both before sighing and receding back into the house for a few seconds. He returned with Ichigo's bunch of keys.

"Toushiro, please, come with us," Ichigo begged.

He tightened the tie around his waist and shook his head, already moving to close the door. Renji guided him to the car with a firm hand on his shoulder. There wasn't much he could do, but Renji pointed out that he could still check up on him to make sure that everything was alright. They could also send Rukia over, since, as of now, she had the best relationship with him. They hadn't told her about the ghost, but they would keep close tabs on her while she was over there. Renji was risking a lot with that suggestion; Ichigo almost refused him. He was right, though; there was nothing else he could do, short of kidnapping his husband. And even though it was for Toushiro's safety, he would not sink that low.

Rukia agreed to help and stopped at the house every night when she was done with work. Ichigo made Toushiro's favourite foods and sent them off with Rukia, just to make sure that he was eating something substantial. He would also call and text off and on, and at least Toushiro answered. They didn't have any real conversations other than Toushiro confirming that he was alive and unharmed. They didn't talk about getting a divorce. Ichigo didn't want to bring up the topic, but it weighed heavily on his mind. He knew that he should bring it up, sooner or later, no matter how hard it would be. No matter how much it hurt.

He was sitting at the breakfast bar with a cup of green tea between his hands, waiting for Rukia to come back from talking with Toushiro. He hated himself for being so cowardly and asking her to do what he should. But if he knew Toushiro he knew that he valued his space. Ichigo had crossed the line the other day, so Toushiro needed some time away from him. He just hoped that the time away didn't translate into a divorce.

"Hey, Ichigo," Rukia's voice made him jump slightly. "Did I scare you?" She pulled herself onto the stool next to him, smirking.

He sighed. "A little." He took a sip of his cold tea. "How's he doing?" he asked in Japanese. He and Rukia had been speaking to each other more in the language. It was comforting, especially when they were talking about sensitive topics. Renji meant well, but Ichigo didn't want a repeat of what happened with him confronting Toushiro.

Rukia switched languages without missing a beat. "Honestly Ichigo..." She broke off in a sigh, "He doesn't look too well, but he's holding on. He needs help."

Ichigo's stomach sank. "Is he eating?"

"Yeah."

He left out a relieved breath and they sat in silence for a while.

"What happened, Ichigo?" Rukia asked softly, "Between you two?"

Ichigo stared into the dregs of his tea. "Shit happened. We lost our son, Toushiro is depressed, we probably shouldn't have moved here. I should have given him more attention when he needed it and now I don't think he even wants me anymore."

"He does. He asks about you, if you're keeping busy and working on your books. It's usually the first question he asks."

Ichigo felt a bit of the tension in his chest break apart.

Rukia smiled gently and turned to face him. "How did the two of you meet?"

Ichigo laughed through his nose. "In college, we've know each other for almost twenty years, married for seven."

"I hope you're not about to tell me some cheesy soul mate story," she joked. "Love at first sight, married straight out of college or something like that."

Ichigo hummed, "Well... kinda sorta, not really. I met him when I was a freshman; he was a... senior, I think. He worked at one of the more popular campus coffee shops. I remember my friends kept on bugging me to ask him out, because I said he was cute and they heard that he was gay. I asked him out the week before he graduated, so it was marvellous timing on my part. But he took a part time job at my sisters' school the summer after. So we hung out a lot then."

"That's sweet," Rukia cooed.

"You think? The drama came later."

Rukia tilted her head. "Oh, I know about drama. My brother-in-law was almost disowned because he married below his class."

"They still have that?"

"He's really rich. It's all old money and the Kuchikis are big on keeping bloodlines pure and all that crap. The thing is they needed an heir to pass on the fortune to and my brother was the only one they were depending on. But then he chose to marry my sister; you can imagine the uproar."

Ichigo couldn't really, he had grown up in a lower-middleclass household, but he knew that most of the Asian community was strict on who their children hung out with or dated. His father hadn't cared either way, but he had found a Japanese (well part Japanese) boyfriend regardless. He nodded to Rukia.

"They gave in eventually, after we moved to America, but the older ones still turn up their noses whenever Renji or the girls come around, they make snide remarks about how the family has 'fallen'." She scoffed, and shook her head. "To be honest, I prefer Renji's family to my own – less prejudice."

Ichigo hummed. "I've never actually met Toushiro's father."

Rukia stared at him, raising an eyebrow and managing to look completely confused. "How's that possible?"

He scratched the back of his neck. "I told you guys that he doesn't have the best relationship with his family. His mother walked out on him and his dad when he was a baby and his father was a manipulative, abusive bastard."

Rukia gasped.

"He assured me that none of it was physical abuse, but I heard them on the phone sometimes and the things he said to him..." Ichigo shook his head. "Toushiro is one of the strongest people I know, and to see him like this..." Ichigo swallowed past a lump forming in his throat. He had to keep talking or he was going to break down. He didn't need to do that in front of Rukia; he was worrying her enough as it was. "He put himself through college, got his teaching certificate, and then went to get his masters in educational administration, and his bastard of a father cleaned out his bank account twice."

Ichigo bit his lip remembering the day Toushiro had come to him, nearly in tears, saying that he didn't know what he was going to do. He couldn't afford rent, or groceries, and he was going to have to work overtime to keep up with his tuition payments. Ichigo had never seen him so distraught before and took him home unsure of what else to do. Isshin, of course, had demanded that Toushiro live with them until he could get back on his feet and since that day he called Tosuhiro his son.

Rukia swore softly. "He doesn't have anything to do with him anymore, I hope."

"Yeah, he cut him off before we got married."

Rukia breathed out heavily through her nose. "If you guys need any help, financially-"

"No no no." Ichigo waved his hands. "We're fine now, that was ages ago. I have five books out remember, and two movies, _and_ a third on the way. We're fine, believe me."

She eyed him but eventually nodded. "I think you should go over to speak with him... next week maybe."

"You think he's ready?"

She nodded firmly.

"Should I go before or after his birthday?"

"I don't know; he's your husband, Ichigo." She shoved his arm playfully.

"But you're the one who's been talking to him."

She shook her head in exasperation. "You'll find out when you go."

"What are you two scheming about?" Renji sidled into the conversation, blatantly heading over to the snack cupboard.

"What do you think you're doing," Ichigo asked, switching back to English.

"I'm fucking hungry and your kale-shit-chips aren't helping."

He sent Rukia and long suffering look. She chuckled. "This is what I've been living with."

"And you love every bit of it," Renji stuck out his tongue as he grabbed a bag of cheetos and darted from the kitchen before Ichigo could say anything.

Ichigo went over to the house a few days later. It was a Friday evening; Ichigo was surprised to see that Toushiro wasn't home. The lights were off and his car wasn't there. It was pretty late too, but there had been a couple of times where Toushiro had been at school until the wee hours of the morning. Ichigo sighed heavily, pulling out his phone to call him. Staying this late at work was not taking care of himself.

Toushiro picked up on the fourth ring and Ichigo was shocked speechless to hear the telltale sound of clinking glasses and voices. He'd gone out with Rachel. Ichigo didn't know what to say. He was happy that Toushiro had gone out, of course, but he was more shocked than anything. Toushiro never went out –well he did, but usually only when Ichigo made him. He shook his head with a small smile, trying to wrap his head around Toushiro's odd behaviour. Maybe he took Ichigo's words to heart and was trying to make friends. He was glad, Rachel seemed really nice – a less pushy version of Rangiku maybe. She would be good for him. He made Toushiro promise to text him when he got back and went back to the Abarais'. Toushiro texted him at eleven, saying that he was home safely and in bed. Ichigo had been holding his breath for the entire night. He was glad that Toushiro was safe but he would only sleep easily if he knew that he could protect him from the ghost. He was at work for most of the day, so that was good, but the mornings and evenings had Ichigo biting his nails to the bed. He needed to get Toushiro out of there.

December was passing in a whirlwind. Ichigo got a phone call from Hollywood about the production of his third movie; they would need him in LA next month. Ichigo took the news with mixed emotions. He'd have to leave Toushiro and unless they either patched things up or got a divorce by then he wasn't sure if he could. They really needed to talk about what was going to happen. And they needed to get Toushiro out of that house.

Renji and Rukia's girls came home for the holidays. Ichigo could tell that they were itching to ask what happened to him and Toushiro. Risa, the bolder of the two, made a few subtle comments, but was promptly scolded by Rukia. Thankfully, she wasn't as bad as her father, because Ichigo had no idea how he would have answered her.

The twentieth drew near. Toushiro would be turning forty-one. His birthday fell on a Sunday that year, so they would have had the whole day to themselves. Ichigo would have made some joke about how he was an old man and they would have spent the day doing nothing until Ichigo would drag him out to a fancy restaurant and order the most expensive wine on the menu. Toushiro would laugh at his foolishness and call him an idiot for spending so much money on him, then they would go home and have slow, sweet sex until neither of them could no longer stay awake.

Ichigo felt sick, none of that would be happening this year.

He woke up on the nineteenth with a tight chest and clenching stomach and after nearly an hour's worth of deliberation he called Toushiro.

"Hey," he swallowed thickly when Toushiro picked up, but at the same time felt a rush of relief.

"Hi," he sounded groggy.

"Did I wake you up?"

"... yeah."

"I'm sorry-"

Toushiro sighed and he heard bed sheets rustle. "I'm up now. What did you want?"

"I... it's your birthday tomorrow..."

A pause. "Oh, right."

"I was wondering if I could... if you wanted to-"

"Ichigo..." Toushiro breathed heavily through his nose, "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"But-"

"I appreciate you trying to make things better, but I really don't think that I'm ready for this yet."

Ichigo felt a boulder drop into his stomach. "We can fix it."

"We keep saying that."

"At least come over to the Abarais' for the day, we don't have to do anything big-"

"Ichigo-"

"I'm sure Rukia would love to make you a cake-"

"Ichigo-"

"It'll be safe!"

There was heavy silence.

"I don't like the thought of you alone in that house, Shiro, please."

"I can handle myself, Ichigo."

"I know you can-"

"And I know you mean well, but we both need this time apart."

Ichigo ground his teeth. "No. _You_ decided that you didn't want to stay here. Our separation wasn't voluntary on my part."

"And I hope you remember the reason why I left," Toushiro growled.

"Shiro-"

"Don't. Don't Shiro me. Not now. Look, I appreciate that you've been sending me food and having Rukia check up on me, but _we_ are not better. I don't know if I can trust myself not to blow up again if I see you."

Ichigo swallowed again, feeling his eyes start to prickle. "You can at least try."

"I _am_ trying."

Ichigo cleared his throat, coughing against the tightness. "So, what should I do?"

"Nothing."

"I want to help-"

"You've been trying to help and it wasn't working-"

"I don't know what to do; tell me what I have to do!"

"I don't know either." There was another tense silence and Toushiro's voice shook when he spoke. "I'm still trying to figure that out for myself."

Ichigo clenched his jaw. "I can't wait on you forever."

"Believe me, I know."

...

This was the first Christmas in over a decade that they hadn't spent together. Ichigo didn't know what to do. He wanted to go back to the house and bring, possibly force, Toushiro to come to the Abarais'. But there was no way Toushiro would stand for that. The phone call they had made him wonder anew if he should really be worrying about the possibility of a divorce. Even when he was helping Rukia and Irene prepare for Christmas dinner, he couldn't get his mind too far from the topic. He knew he had been a little harsh with Toushiro – he would wait on him forever, he'd wait longer than forever, but when he had taken a good, long look at himself in the mirror after Toushiro had hung up, he knew that he couldn't. He looked tired, much older than his age. More grey hairs were popping up than he was used to, and there were faint, dark circles under his eyes. Even his skin looked dull and he noticed that there were a few small wrinkles forming around his eyes. He couldn't keep this up for much longer, he felt worn out, as if he had been continuously running a marathon for the past year. He loved Toushiro. He loved him more than anything. He was 100 percent worth all the pain, but it was hard to see the horizon when all that surrounded him were dark, heavy clouds.

...

Ichigo woke up to his phone ringing on Christmas morning. He didn't even have to check the screen to see that it was his father calling.

"Merry Christmas, Ichigo!" Isshin sang loudly. He could hear the other family members in the background.

He rolled onto his side and yawned before answering. "Merry Christmas, dad. How's everyone?"

"Great! We're all at Yuzu's right now; you're missing out."

"Yeah..." he answered glumly. Maybe if they had planned a trip back to San Francisco he and Toushiro wouldn't have gotten into another fight.

"What's wrong?"

Ichigo blinked, almost surprised by his father's perception. "Oh... um... it's just..." he broke off in a heavy sigh, unsure how he was supposed to tell his father that he and Toushiro might be getting a divorce without ruining Christmas. He felt his chest tighten and he cleared his throat. There was the sound of a door closing and the background voices were cut off on Isshin's end.

"Is it Toushiro?"

Everything left him in a breath. He couldn't stop his eyes from growing watery or his voice from shaking. "We're growing apart, dad. I don't know what to do."

Isshin sighed softly, "You'll work through it-"

"I think we may get a divorce."

Isshin was silent for a short while. "No you're not. You're being dramatic, you both are. You two were clearly meant to be together; you're not getting a divorce."

"He left me-"

"You just need to talk it out. He's still struggling with his depression, Ichigo, what did you two argue about this time?"

He told his father as much as he could without mentioning the ghost. He told him how the house was unsafe, but Toushiro refused to leave because he didn't want to depend on the Abarais. He told him how he still refused to talk about Ken, he refused to give Ichigo the closure he needed, and every time he thought that they were getting better everything fell to pieces around him. He told him how tired he was. He couldn't keep trying to build up something that fell apart faster than he could pick up the pieces. There was a wet spot on his pillow by the time he was finished.

"I wish I knew what to tell you, Ichigo," Isshin said softly. "Honestly, I don't know if Toushiro, if either of you, will truly get over Ken. God, even I still cry sometimes when I think of him."

Ichigo swallowed thickly. "I don't expect Toushiro to get over him, but I've been trying to move us forward for almost a year now, I've been trying to make us happy again. It hurts, dad. When I got that call from the hospital I thought everything had ended and I miss him, I miss him so much... and I don't want to be stuck feeling like that."

"You should tell him that."

"How can I, when every time I mention Ken he shuts down? Don't you think I've tried?"

Isshin breathed harshly through the speaker. "Keep trying."

"I'm tired-"

"Ichigo Kurosaki, are you giving up on your husband?"

"No-"

"You damn well aren't. I don't know how this feels for either of you, but when your mother died I thought that it was the end of the world, but I had you and your sisters to take care of. You have Toushiro and he has you. It's going to be hard, and it's not going to be pretty, but you need to talk."

Ichigo swallowed past the lump in his throat.

"Look, Ichigo, I wish I was there next to you, doing this over the phone-"

"It's alright, dad."

"I just think you two are damn foolish if you don't work this out. Rely on each other; it's not up to you alone to fix this."

...

He tried his best to make it seem like he hadn't been crying. He took a long, cold shower and even washed his hair. His eyes were still a bit puffy when he was done, but he plastered a smile to his face, pulled on the red sweater that Rukia had bought him – even though it clashed terribly with his hair – and graciously accepted the mug of hot chocolate that Mizuna handed him. If the Abarais noticed that something was wrong with him they hid it well. He was thankful for Renji, for once in his life, for having some tact.

It felt weird opening presents without Toushiro, almost as if he was doing something wrong. He knew for a fact that there wasn't a Christmas tree up in the house and that Toushiro was probably still in bed. The thought made his stomach queasy; he didn't want to picture his husband all alone on Christmas morning. He could only hope he was safe.

"Ichigo, you have one," Risa said, breaking him out of his daydream, as she handed him a brightly wrapped box.

He took it then glared at Rukia. "I told you guys not to get me anything. You've done enough as it is."

Rukia smiled smugly. "We saw you sneaking presents under the tree; don't think I was just going to let you do that."

He shook his head in exasperation and ran his fingers along the green ribbon.

"Well, open it," Renji said grinning. It was a small stack of paleo cookbooks. "Now hopefully you can learn to make something and stop feeding me that kale and chia seed crap."

The twins giggled as Ichigo rolled his eyes.

After opening presents, Rukia helped him put together a basket of leftovers from breakfast to take to Toushiro and she stuffed a small, green present in as well.

...

"Have you found the rings?"

Ichigo sighed internally. "No, miss. I just had a few questions about-"

"Please, stop wasting my time then."

"Please, miss, I just need to know-"

"Do you have any idea how expensive that ring set was? I'm not interested in anything else you have to say."

She hung up and Ichigo swore loudly. He had no more leads on the ghost and he still had no idea on how to get rid of it. He yanked at his hair and slammed his laptop closed. He ground his teeth together, feeling his throat begin to tighten. He needed to get rid of that ghost; he needed to keep his husband safe. He took several deep breaths, telling himself to calm down. Getting angry wouldn't help him. He swallowed thickly and flopped backwards on the bed. If only he could just convince Toushiro to leave the house. If only he could change their situation, maybe scare the board members into leaving Toushiro alone. He was sure a baseball bat to their windshields or a punch to the face would work. Or just make things infinitely worse. He rolled over and punched the pillow, watching as it puffed out around his fist.

He had gone to the house on Boxing Day and Toushiro answered the door limping with a fresh bruise on his chin. Ichigo had almost yanked him out of the house and bodily forced him to the Abarais'. It hurt both mentally and physically to leave him there. But he knew that if he forced Toushiro to do anything he might as well just sign the divorce papers. The best thing he could do was find out how to get rid of the ghost.

He crumpled the edge of the pillow case in his fist, staring at his wedding band. He had saved up his first two paycheques to buy the set. Admittedly, they weren't the best quality; his first job at an indie publishing house didn't pay the best. It didn't hold a candle to the rings the previous owners had, it seemed. He twisted the ring around his finger, the metal was warm, worn down, and a bit scuffed. But, wedding rings of all kinds seemed to be a thing with the ghost. It had bitten Renji's ring finger, there was the creepy collection of wedding bands in the attic, and he was pretty sure that it had tried to go after his ring as well. He chewed the inside of his cheek. It kind of made sense; if the Willis ghost was framed for stealing a ring, then maybe it would go after people with wedding rings. It was a shaky theory, but it was all he could come up with. He sighed heavily and twisted the band from his finger. How could he help the ghost to move on, how could a ring be the answer to any of this. It had stolen quite a few already, what if the ring wasn't in the equation after all, and the ghost was just attracted to shiny things. He set the ring in his palm and watched it gleam in the light from the bedside lamp. No, the ring meant something. There were too many key factors for them just to be coincidences. Maybe the ghost was searching for the original ring. If he found it maybe it would disappear for good. But that ring was probably long gone. Or it could be in the house somewhere. The ghost could have been guarding it like Ceberus guarding the gates of hell. There had to be some sort of clue that he had missed. He hadn't had that much time to search the attic before.

He leaned over to switch off the light and set his ring on the night stand. He slipped under the covers and prayed that Toushiro would be safe until he could figure this thing out. The thought of him alone in the house was enough to add another sleepless night to the list.

* * *

**3 more chapters to go! I'm going to try to go back to weekly updates for summer, so watch out for a new chapter any time during the upcoming Fridays. **

**Really sorry for the wait on this one :/ **

**-Mymomomo**


	18. The Room at the Back of the House

Ichigo pulled up into the driveway to the house. Gravel and snow crunched under the truck's tyres. He parked next to Toushiro's car and took a few deep breaths, clutching the steering wheel tightly. The sun was just starting to set; already things were beginning to look grey and faded. The house loomed over him; the set up to a sick joke. If he had known what it would have cost him, he wouldn't have given it a second glance. He had told Renji and Rukia that he was going back to the house; Renji knew that if anything went wrong Ichigo would call, and promised to be on alert. Toushiro was not going to stay in that dangerous house longer than he already had, not if Ichigo had any say about it. He didn't care that Toushiro didn't want to see him; he was going crazy not knowing if he was safe or not.

He reached into the back seat and grabbed an iron poker and a spray bottle filled with salt water. He pilled them into a canvas satchel, along with a few boxes of salt, miniature fire pokers, a set of novelty barbeque forks, and a couple flashlights. He felt like he was going to war; loading up on ammo and weapons. This was it. He took a deep breath; he was going to get rid of that ghost. He didn't know how yet, but he would figure it out. He would damn well figure it out. He should have already figured it out. He clenched his palms into fists, ever since the night the door had slammed on Toushiro's hand. He shouldn't have waited. He clenched his jaw and pulled the satchel over his shoulder. Then breathing in deeply to pull together his courage, he jumped out of the car.

The front steps were iced over and he made a mental note to deal with that before he left. Standing in front of the door, he paused and took a few calming breaths. Toushiro had turned the porch light on, probably out of habit, but the glass panes on the door were coated in dust. The house looked like a strange mix of abandoned, yet lived in. He unlocked the door and shoved the keys into his pocket. The house was just as he had left it; it didn't even look as though Toushiro had been there at all. The living room was dark, but there was a light on in the kitchen and he could hear his husband moving around. Toushiro was not going to be too pleased to see him. His stomach bubbled softly, and he felt his chest clench. He wasn't there to convince Toushiro of anything, he reminded himself; he had just come for the ghost. He tightened his grip on the poker and glanced around before turning to the kitchen. He had to get his stuff ready and that was the safest place; it wasn't because he wanted to see Toushiro. But checking to see if he wasn't hurt any further would be a good idea too.

Toushiro jumped and spun around when he entered the kitchen. His shoes squeaked on the tiles and the iron tools in his bag clanked together. Toushiro whirled around, diving for the poker that he had leaning against the counter. For a split second he looked utterly terrified, then when he realised that it was Ichigo relief clouded his features before he could school them into irritation. He straightened and glared at Ichigo for a few seconds.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, folding his arms across his chest.

Ichigo studied him for a moment. He was dressed for bed, or hadn't changed for the day, in an old over-sized t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants. There were heavy lines under his eyes, which were rimmed in red, and a few days worth of stubble had him looking scruffy. The slightly gaunt cheeks and the dark bruise on his jaw didn't help much, either. Ichigo had only seen him two days ago but it might as well have been weeks with how much worse he looked.

"You look terrible," he muttered, his stomach clenching, as he walked up to the island.

Toushiro breathed out heavily through his nose. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm gonna see if I can do anything about the ghost."

Toushiro narrowed his eyes. "You found a way to get rid of it?"

"I have a... hunch."

"A hunch." Toushiro rubbed his temple. "You expect me to let you go traipsing through the house based off of a hunch?"

"You're the one who's _living_ here, I know you don't want to see me right now, but I don't want you to get hurt more than you already have. This thing could kill you and I don't want that to happen. A hunch is all I have, but if it can save you then I'm gonna damn well try."

Toushiro levelled Ichigo with a cold glare for a few minutes, before sighing and turning back to put the kettle on the stove. "Fine, what's this hunch of yours?"

Ichigo rested his forearms on the countertop and leaned over, watching his hands as he splayed his fingers on the cold marble. "Rings."

Toushiro glanced over his shoulder. "Rings?"

"It seems to be attracted to wedding bands. I found a bunch of them in the attic the last time, it bit Renji's ring finger, and the ghost was framed for stealing a ring when he was alive. It makes sense."

Toushiro wrapped his arms around his stomach and turned to look at Ichigo. "It's gone after my ring as well..."

Ichigo nodded. "There _has_ to be some sort of connection. I think if we find the original ring we can help it to pass on or something."

"You think you can find it?" Toushiro chewed the inside of his cheek, letting his arms drop from his stomach.

"I'm gonna try."

Toushiro was silent for a few more minutes. "Is that why you're not wearing your wedding band?"

Ichigo looked down at his bare hand; he had forgotten that he'd taken it off. He pulled his hands from the counter and straightened. "...Yeah."

Toushiro turned back around and pulled down a mug from the cupboard next to the sink. The question he asked sunk deep into Ichigo's chest. He clenched his jaw. Toushiro was the one who walked away; the ball was in his court. He couldn't look so disheartened when Ichigo wasn't wearing his ring, while he refused to give him a clear answer on what state their marriage was in. Ichigo didn't want to get a divorce, but he also didn't want to be strung along, waiting until god knew when for a yes or no. He heard Toushiro pour water into the mug. He stared at his back; his shoulder blades were easily visible through his shirt.

"I need to know, Toushiro," he began, clenching and unclenching his fists. Toushiro glanced his way once more. "Are you serious about getting a divorce?"

Toushiro froze for a second then he set the kettle down and looked into his steaming mug. "We shouldn't talk about this now. We'll need clear heads if we're going to get this ghost."

Ichigo swallowed thickly. "So, that's a yes, then?"

"It's a not now."

Ichigo heaved a giant breath, the only way he'd have a clear his was if they talked. But there was also the chance that they would argue again and that would make things even worse. "Fine. But we're having a long talk after this. I'm not letting you back out this time. You owe me that at least."

Toushiro briefly looked up at him. His face looked so tired, so completely worn out, that Ichigo almost took back his words. Toushiro shouldn't owe him anything, but they did need to talk. They needed to sort their lives out and he could not let Toushiro's fear of letting out his emotions get between them this time.

"Yes, I know." Toushiro wrapped his fingers around his mug and looked down, letting the steam rise up into his face.

...

Ichigo dumped his bag's contents on the kitchen floor. The metal pieces clanked loudly against the tiles and Ichigo nervously glanced into the darkened foyer for any signs of the ghost. He expected to be standing right across from the salt line and staring at them. There was nothing there, and that alone had Ichigo's stomach twisting itself into knots.

They were silent as they went through the weapons. Ichigo tucked one of the pokers through his belt loop and did the same with a spray bottle on his opposite side. Toushiro tied one of the mini pokers and a barbeque fork to his thigh with a dishtowel. Ichigo titled his head as he tied the knot then grabbed a dishtowel and did the same. They were going to need all the weapons they could carry. He stuffed the rest back into the bag and slung it over his shoulder.

"Ready?" he asked, looking to Toushiro.

He nodded and grabbed the full-sized poker that had been resting against the counter.

Ichigo's stomach churned and his limbs tingled. He imagined that this was what soldiers felt like before going to battle. It was either they killed the ghost or it killed them. He felt sweat form under his armpits and at the back of his neck. This was probably going to be it; even if they didn't find the ring the ghost was bound to attack. He studied the bruise on Toushiro's jaw, feeling his insides tighten. At least he was ready for it this time.

"We'll start in the attic," he instructed Toushiro. "We get there through the back room."

With that he stepped over the salt line across the entry way to the kitchen and held his poker tightly to his chest. He looked around for any signs of the ghost and quickly made his way to the stairs. He nearly jumped when the lights flicked on. When he looked back Toushiro stood near the switch and shrugged when he saw Ichigo staring.

"It'll be easier this way," he offered.

Right. Ichigo nodded, wondering how turning on the lights didn't occur to him. Darkness was not their friend right now. Toushiro followed him upstairs. His instinct was to take off running to the bedroom; it was the only upstairs room they had set foot in for months. He shuddered to think of all the dirt that had gathered. The bathrooms were probably disgusting. He turned on the hallway lights and shuffled down. All the pictures he had hung up were covered in a layer of dust. Happy scenes of him, Toushiro, and his family were covered in a light film of brown, turning them surprisingly eerie. The biggest picture, of the Kurosaki family reunion, looked like something straight from a horror movie when everyone's smiling faces were covered in dark splotches. The house would need to major cleaning when they were done with this. If everything worked out.

He glanced briefly to the master bedroom again, before shaking his head and turning in the opposite direction. The house was freakishly quiet and even colder than he remembered. He was still wearing his jacket from outside and could still feel the chill that hung in the air. He wondered how Toushiro was surviving in just a t-shirt. He looked back at him, pretending to scan for the ghost, and saw that he was covered in goose bumps and trembling slightly. He would have given him his jacket, but he wasn't sure if he would accept it. Now wasn't the time anyway. He swallowed, he needed to stay focused; any distractions right now would cost him his life. His boots padded softly against the runner along the floor, and dust had turned the wood floor around it grey. He was ashamed to say that he had been living in here. But he valued his life more than he valued cleanliness. And he really needed to focus on the task at hand.

They made it to the back room without a sign of the ghost. Ichigo wasn't really sure what to make of that. It could be setting a trap for them; it could jump out at any moment and attack them. His heart was thudding heavily, slowly picking up pace. The room was a mess, just as how he'd left it. Furniture lay across the floor in splinters, the mirror was cracked, and the curtains torn down. He flicked on the light before realising that it was broken as well, shattered. His chest twinged at the sight of Ken's stuff thrown all over without a care. His favourite light green mixed with grey dust, fading away as shadows twisted around them. Ichigo felt guilt rise in his stomach for even once considering that Toushiro was the one who had done this to the room. He looked back to him again. Toushiro's face was carefully blank as he clutched his poker tightly to his chest. Ichigo clenched his palms, feeling his nails dig into his skin around the poker. Now wasn't the time to offer comfort; Toushiro didn't want hugs and kisses.

"You okay?" he still asked.

Toushiro nodded, closing his eyes briefly. "Let's just get this over with; I don't like being in here."

Ichigo nodded, looking around for the step ladder he had brought in here the last time. "Cover me."

Ichigo picked up the step ladder from behind the door – where he'd left it the last time – then took a deep breath before he climbed it and pulled down the stairs to the attic. The hinges creaked and he coughed as dust puffed up around him. Toushiro covered his nose and mouth with his palm. They glanced at each other then up into the dark opening. Chills ran down Ichigo's spine and suddenly his bladder felt full. He swallowed thickly and jumped off the ladder.

"We're gonna have to be really careful up there," he said.

"Yeah." Toushiro adjusted his grip on his poker.

Ichigo went up first, pulling out a flashlight from his satchel. There was a light up there, but he didn't want to be flailing around trying to find it. He'd gone up during the day the last time and he had still been attacked. The light beam showed bits of dust floating in the stagnant air as it bounced off the rafters and old furniture. Toushiro followed closely behind, their footsteps loud on the flimsy plywood floor as it creaked and groaned beneath them. Ichigo pulled the string to turn on the light bulb when it was within reach. The bright, orange light didn't make the attic seem any less frightening.

"Creepy," Toushiro muttered, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. It was freezing up here, probably the same temperature as it was outside. The tip of Ichigo's nose had gone numb instantly. He carefully wiggled out of his jacket, taking care not to bump any of his weapons out of place, and hung it over Toushiro's shoulders. Toushiro glanced up at him and muttered thanks before slipping his hands through the arm holes and pulling it tightly around his chest.

They waited a few minutes, just scanning the room for any signs of the ghost. Ichigo wished that it would just jump out; the suspense was the worst part. He had expected it to attack by now; it had never waited this long before, well not when they were out in the open. Maybe it was just watching them, seeing what they were planning before attacking. Either way, Ichigo's skin was itching in anticipation. He put the flashlight back into his bag and rubbed his hands together then blew on them. He half expected to see his breath come out in a puff. It would probably be a good idea to finish the attic when they got rid of the ghost. There was so much space up here. He shook his head a forced himself to focus.

"There were lots of rings on that old desk," he told Toushiro, pointing to the antique writing desk. "I think this may be its lair or something."

"Ghosts have lairs?"

"I don't know... this one does."

Toushiro scoffed.

Ichigo felt himself smile a bit, but turned to look at the desk so Toushiro wouldn't see. "I'll grab all the rings I can, if you keep watch. We can examine them once we're somewhere safe."

"Okay."

Hunching over, Ichigo made his way over to the desk. Toushiro followed but stopped short, turning around and brandishing his poker. Ichigo froze for a minute, thinking that he had seen something, but Toushiro just shot him a sharp look.

"Hurry," he mumbled, "this thing can come out from anywhere."

"Right."

Ichigo hopped over to the desk. The yellow papers were still scattered all over the surface and he shuffled trough them, looking for any rings he could find. He sent a bundle of papers crashing to the floor and Toushiro jumped, swearing softly. He grabbed all the rings he could see, fumbling as he tried to stuff them into his bag. He counted eight of them, the same as last time, and ran his hands along the desk searching for more. His heart was pounding, blood rushing heavily through his ears, and even though it was freezing sweat gathered at the back of his neck and dripped down under his shirt. He tore through the drawers, and the cubbies. There should be a single ring, maybe, the one that had started this whole thing. He ran his fingers along the inside of empty drawers, gathering a few splinters in his palms. The drawers were mostly empty. The cubbies were stuffed full with more papers. The ink on these was just as illegible as the ones spread out on the writing surface and even more yellowed and crumpled. There was an old fountain pen, so caked with dust that the cap was cemented shut. There were a few empty, rusted picture frames and a cracked ink pot. A few leather bound books were shoved into one of the cubbies, and the writer in Ichigo was tempted to take them as well. He clenched his jaw, growing frantic as he ran out of places to search. He needed to find that ring. It was an engagement ring for a woman, it would be old fashioned, probably tarnished, maybe with a few stones missing, if the shopkeeper's story was accurate. He took a step back and examined the floor beneath the desk.

"Are you done?" Toushiro hissed, looking at him over his shoulder.

"I'm not sure... there might be more on the floor."

Toushiro took a deep breath as Ichigo dropped to his hands and knees and pulled out his flashlight. He had to find that ring. There was no question; their lives depended on it. He shone the flashlight under the desk. The wooden panels nearly went to the floor, but there was a gap big enough for something small to roll underneath. Something glinted next to one of the front legs and Ichigo held his breath as he reached to it. The floor was grimy and his hand was instantly covered in dust, but he felt a tinge of relief.

"Ichigo," Toushiro said warningly.

He startled and grabbed the ring only to realise that it could fit his finger; it was a man's ring, smooth and gold. He swore aloud and shone the flashlight back under the desk, frantically hoping that he had missed something.

The whoosh of a poker swinging through the air had him scrambling to his feet, and nearly braining himself on one of the rafters as he shot to his full height. Toushiro was standing with his feet wide, the poker to his shoulder like he was about to swing it like a baseball bat.

"We need to get out of here now!" he shouted. He looked like a ghost himself, paler than Ichigo had ever seen him.

Ichigo grabbed his poker looking around wildly for the ghost. "Where did it go?"

"I didn't see."

He stepped closer to Toushiro, nearly brushing his side. He was breathing heavily, and Ichigo knew that his heart was pounding to match.

"Did you get what you needed?" he asked.

"I hope so," Ichigo swallowed.

Toushiro clenched his jaw. "That's not what I want to hear, Ichigo-"

There was a low howling sound and suddenly their breaths started to come out in puffs of white condensation.

"Shit," Ichigo swore. That was all the warning he needed to shove Toushiro forward and start running to the staircase. "Run, Shiro!"

The ghost came at them with a yowl, and inhuman sound that Ichigo had never heard before. He dropped to the floor, nearly breaking his kneecap, as it swooped at his head.

"Ichigo!" Toushiro yelled.

Ichigo spun around, still on the floor just in time to see Toushiro stab the ghost with the poker. It vanished with a howl and Toushiro dove forward, grabbing Ichigo's hand and hauling him to his feet. Ichigo barely had solid footing before the ghost materialised right in front of them. Ichigo didn't have time to react before it grabbed him by the neck and threw him to the floor.

He landed on his shoulder with an echoing thud, and rolled onto his back flinging his arms out, hoping the catch the ghost with his poker. It had disappeared again by the time he managed to sit up. But his heart was racing, and he felt bruises start to form where the ghost had grabbed him. Toushiro stood above him, clutching his poker with trembling hands, and frantically looking around. It was still growling, even though they couldn't see it – a gurgling, menacing sound that had Ichigo's stomach curdling. He swallowed as he got to his feet and nudged Toushiro to the staircase. The light bulb began to sway back on forth on its string and the floor started to shake. The plywood rattled, the thick layer of dust jumping up and down. Toushiro looked at him with wide eyes, he could see his chest heaving, almost as if he was hyper ventilating. Ichigo felt the same. He tightened his hold on the poker and urged Toushiro on. They had barely taken a step when the light began to flicker and then Ichigo knew they were in deep shit.

The ghost appeared in front of them. At first it was just a cloud of condensation, and then it began to darken and solidify like a rain cloud. The floor rattled harder and the light bulb went out in a buzz then a crack. Toushiro screamed, reeling backwards and bumping into Ichigo's chest. Ichigo nearly tumbled backwards with a shout of his own. He managed to catch himself by throwing out one of his legs, but that was the least of his worries. The ghost hung over the entrance to the attic, glaring at them, out of the shadows with empty, milky eyes. He had never seen it so clearly before, even though the only light was a bit of grey moonlight that shone through the portal at the far end of the attic. Ichigo's stomach twisted and knotted as he stared. It looked like a corpse, waxy skin pulled tight across sharp bones. Its hair hung in scraggy, ropes and its jaw hung open at an angle. Ichigo couldn't look away. His heart was thudding and he was almost struggling to breathe. The stench ran rampant through the attic – rotting meat and something more disgusting. It locked eyes with him, pupils clouded over, and he took a step back, dragging Toushiro with him. He had no clue how they were supposed to get out now. They could fight it, but he looked down to see his arms trembling and he could already taste his dinner at the back of his throat. He didn't know how much good it would do, he could could try to force his way through.

He pulled Toushiro to his chest, shielding him, when it raised an arm. Ichigo flinched, expecting something to come flying at them, but it only growled louder grasping at the air level with Ichigo's face. He swallowed thickly, almost too scared to move, but he had to get them to safety. Staying here and waiting for it to attack again was not an option. He had to get past it.

"Shiro," he whispered, feeling him shake violently, "I'm gonna distract it; you make a run for it."

Toushiro looked up at him, his mouth open in fear. "Are you insane?" he hissed. "No."

"How else are we supposed to get out?" he glanced nervously at the ghost. It was still staring at them, it hadn't moved, other than the hand clawing at the air. "Try to make it to our bedroom. I'll be right behind you."

"Ichigo-"

"It's our only-"

"You're not sacrificing yourself."

Ichigo drew in a sharp breath. "I'm stronger than you; I can hold it off."

"You're also faster, so you should take the rings and go. You'll have a better chance getting to the room than I will."

Ichigo swallowed; Toushiro had a point, but, "I'm not going to leave you behind with this thing."

"I'm not helpless."

He heard Toushiro gulp and shift to get a better grip on his poker. The growling grew louder and the ghost gnashed its teeth at them.

"Go, Ichigo," Toushiro hissed, squaring his shoulders and turning to face the ghost straight on.

"Shiro-"

"Go!"

Toushiro tore away from Ichigo's embrace, and jumped at the ghost, poker raised above his head. This ghosts eyes flicked towards him, and the rattling started up again. The plywood strained against the nails keeping it down, and Ichigo was sure that the rafters closest to his head were vibrating as well. His entire body ran cold. Toushiro wasn't going to be fast enough. Ichigo felt his stomach drop. The ghost dissipated as Toushiro swung and reappeared behind him. Ichigo leapt forward, but it was too quick and he was too late. It grabbed Toushiro by the back of his neck, the poker dropped from his hands with a clank, and it swung him face first into one of the rafters. There was a muffled crunch and Toushiro fell limp, blood streaming down his chin from his nose.

"Toushiro!"

The ghost let go of him and he dropped in a heap to the floor. No, Ichigo's mind screamed. Not again. He couldn't have gone down that easily, he couldn't have sacrificed himself. He couldn't be seeing this. Ichigo fell to his knees as well. Bile rose at the back of his throat as his fingers grew numb. Everything grew numb. This whole idea had been stupid; they had no hope in heaven or hell of fighting a ghost. He was definitely hyperventilating. He nearly dropped his poker and felt his heart stop when the ghost turned and locked eyes with him.

* * *

**Annd the ghost is back!**

**-Mymomomo**


	19. Rings that Bind

Toushiro's felt like he had been hit with a sledge hammer. He felt like he was swaying, but he was sitting down, or lying down. He couldn't tell. He couldn't breathe through his nose, and his mouth tasted like blood. His thoughts kept on swimming in and out of his head and he couldn't pin a single one down. He groggily opened his eyes, but only darkness stared back at him. He blinked a few times, and the grey shape of rafters came into focus. Rafters? Attic... his muddled thoughts cleared and instantly his heart began to race. He looked around wildly. The ghost. Ichigo. Panic rose in his chest suddenly and forcefully. He couldn't breathe.

"Ichigo?" he called out, his voice was weak and stuffy. His nose was most likely badly broken; he remembered that part. It felt swollen; throbbing, hot cycles of pain ran across his nose bridge up to his cheek bones. Now, he was tied to something... a chair with uneven legs – it felt as if it was going to topple over. "Ichigo?" He looked around trying his best to quell the panic in his chest before it could overtake him.

There was a weak cough somewhere to his left and he strained his eyes in the dim light.

"Ichigo?" his voice shook.

"Shiro?" There was a rustling sound, fabric against wood, then a heavy exhale. "Thank god, I thought you were dead." His words were slurred and his voice low. Toushiro could just make out the shape of his body on the floor. He wasn't moving and Toushiro felt bile rise to his throat.

"Ichigo, what happened?" He was almost too scared to ask.

Ichigo didn't answer. Toushiro felt his eyes start to prickle and he clenched his jaw tightly. He had been so weak; he hadn't even managed to touch the ghost before it had knocked him out. And it looked like Ichigo had borne the blunt of his ineptitude.

"I..." Ichigo started softly, "I'm sorry, Shiro, I got us into this."

"No-"

"Shouldn't have gone looking for the ghost."

"Ichi-"

"Couldn't protect you."

"No," Toushiro shook his head, "It wasn't... I couldn't do anything... I was the one who couldn't protect you."

Ichigo let out a soft, rattling breath. "Shiro-"

"I was supposed to buy you time..." He hiccupped and his nose flared in pain with the movement.

"Shiro... baby," Ichigo mumbled, "Don't cry, please..."

"We're not going to make it out of here."

"Don't say that. We're getting out, baby, I promise you that."

Toushiro coughed. "How?"

"Don't give up on me, please. I can't..." he took a shuddering, wet breath. "I can't lose you."

Toushiro swallowed with difficulty; his throat was closing up. He hadn't seen Ichigo like this in ages. He was always strong, unshakable; always moving about like nothing could disturb or break him. Toushiro clenched his jaw; he was a hypocrite. He had been falling apart for so long, how could he expect Ichigo to remain unfazed? He squinted in the darkness to Ichigo's prone form. He said that he couldn't lose him, but Toushiro knew that if Ichigo died there was no question that he wouldn't be able to go on. After Ken things had just gone so fast, he felt like he was drowning. Ichigo had been his rock, a rock that he kept on pushing away. He sniffed; forgetting his nose for minute then winced in pain as his facial muscles pulled against broken bone and cartilage. Ichigo was on his side, one arm stretched out the other carelessly flung across his chest. He couldn't lose him.

He swallowed again, against the rising panic. He could feel a pronounced tremor racking his entire body and with his stomach clenching, he felt slightly nauseated. He shut his eyes for a minute, breathing deeply through his mouth. He couldn't give up. He had done some thinking while he was alone, and now was the time to act upon it. Yes, Ichigo had moved on, possibly without him, but he could tell that Ichigo wanted him to catch up. From all the phone calls, the meals, the text messages, and care packages, Ichigo wasn't giving up on him. He just didn't know how he was supposed to catch up. Ichigo was perfect, beautiful, and loveable. He made friends easily and attracted the right people, while Toushiro struggled to talk to strangers and sometimes to people he already knew. Even after all these years he couldn't understand why Ichigo had chosen him. He had vowed every day since their first date that he wouldn't make Ichigo regret his choice.

He wanted to laugh bitterly, lately he had been forcing Ichigo to regret everything and yet here he was, begging Toushiro not to give up on him. He didn't deserve him. He didn't deserve his kindness, his forgiveness, his anything. If they somehow got out of this alive he was going to have to try much harder.

"Shiro?" Ichigo asked quietly.

"I'm still here, love." Toushiro opened his eyes, trying and failing to blink back tears. "What did it do to you?"

Ichigo breathed deeply, but didn't answer. It was serious then. Toushiro's stomach sank. "Ichigo?"

"I... I don't know... I don't know if I can get up."

Toushiro's breath caught in his throat. He wasn't strong enough to carry Ichigo anywhere. Even if he could somehow get out of the chair. He tugged at the rope that bound his hands. "Where is it now?"

"I don't know."

Toushiro sighed in frustration, tugging against the rope that fastened his hands to the chair. "So what? It just beat you up and left?" He didn't mean to snap and winced at his tone.

Ichigo coughed weakly. "I think it's re-enacting something. It kept on repeating 'you stole it' and 'she's mine'. I don't have the rings anymore, so it couldn't have meant that."

Toushiro chewed his bottom lip. He didn't like the sound of that. "Do you think," he almost didn't want to admit it, but he had heard somewhere that vengeful spirits often killed in the fashion that they were killed. "Do you think it's re-enacting how it died?"

Ichigo hesitated. "Yeah... baby, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have pushed; we could still be safe now if I hadn't rushed things."

"You did what you thought was best, you've always done that. I can't fault you for that, Ichigo."

"I-"

"No. If anyone it to blame it's me. We should have gotten out of this house ages ago."

Ichigo swore.

"What happens next?" Toushiro licked his lips, but his tongue was dry.

Ichigo was silent for a few beats. "Are you sure you want to know?"

Toushiro's heart thumped heavily. "Yes."

"Whatever happens to us, baby, just know I love you more than anything. I never stopped."

"Even though I don't deserve it," Toushiro muttered.

"You did not kill Ken. It wasn't your fault – I never blamed you for that, no one did."

Toushiro felt a hot tear leak from his eye and he had to remind himself not to sniffle. "I... l... love you, Ichigo. God, I love you so much. I don't want this to be it. We can't end like this, can we?"

Ichigo made a chocked sound in his throat. "Shiro-"

There were heavy footsteps on the plywood floor and a dark figure blocked Toushiro's view of his husband.

"Shiro!"

A rough, cold hand grabbed his chin and forced him to look away from Ichigo. He stared right into the ghost's face. Cracked, rotting skin and clouded over eyes. Toushiro wanted to scream, but he couldn't; his chest was frozen still, he could barely breathe.

"So beautiful," it spoke. The voice didn't come from its mouth but echoed around the attic with no clear source.

"Leave him alone!" Ichigo shouted. Toushiro could hear him struggling to get up. The ghost's finger nails dug into his jaw and it breathed decaying air into his face. Toushiro's eyes watered and he gagged.

"Why would you choose that thieving, destitute bastard over me?"

A fingernail was pressed into his bottom lip, dragging it across his teeth. He clenched his jaw, trying to wrench his face from its grasp.

"Leave him alone! Take me instead!" Ichigo's voice cracked.

Something glinted from the ghost's free hand and it lifted a kitchen knife levelling it with Toushiro's eyes. Toushiro wondered if it had used that knife on Ichigo and he felt anger mix with the fear in his chest. He strained his hands against the rope, feeling a few muscles in his shoulders pop and the rope pulled harshly against his thumb joints. If dislocating them meant that he could somehow escape then he would try.

The ghost ignored his struggling, yanking him forward by the chin. "You chose wrong, whore, and now I'm going to fuck you until you bleed and your dear _husband_ going to watch."

Toushiro's blood curdled and he tried to look to Ichigo. The rope had rubbed his wrists raw from all the tugging and pulling. He was trashing in the chair and it would have tipped over, already leaning dangerously on uneven legs, if the ghost hadn't been holding him.

"No! Fuck, leave him alone!" there was a loud thud as Ichigo fell back to the ground. "Toushiro! No!"

It leaned around him brandishing the knife and cutting the rope away. Toushiro nearly tumbled forward in the awkward position he had been forced into, but the ghost had captured both his hands in its own. He was yanked from the chair and held up about a foot off the ground. His shoulders screamed in agony and he wanted to do the same.

Ichigo was shouting and struggling to get up.

The ghost pinned him against its body, sharp bones dug into his back and rotten organs shifted under him. One arm locked him in place by his neck and the ghost turned so that they were facing Ichigo.

"Don't you dare hurt him!" Ichigo shouted. He had managed to prop himself up on an elbow. But even in the darkness Toushiro could tell that he was hurt badly; he was curled over his stomach and he kept his left arm tucked tightly to his side. He didn't hear his own voice as he called out to him. He reached out; nowhere near close enough to touch him.

Toushiro's chest seized and in that moment what was happening to him was secondary; all he could see was Ichigo. He didn't feel as the ghost threw him to the ground and pinned him on his back. He locked eyes with Ichigo, hopping, praying that he was going to be okay that his injuries weren't life threatening. He didn't notice as the ghost crouched over him pressing his hips to the floor and running jagged nails up under his shirt. He strained to reach Ichigo, nails scrapping against the floor gathering splinters and dust.

The ghost grabbed his left hand, forcing his attention away from Ichigo. It held his wrist in a crushing grip and fingered his wedding band, twisting it around his finger for a long moment. Then it sneered and spat at Ichigo.

"There is no way that you could have afforded this? Who did you steal it from?" It paused as if waiting for Ichigo to answer. "I don't believe that. Who the hell did you steal it from?!"

"Leave him alone!" Ichigo repeated, trying to shuffle closer to Toushiro, only to gasp in pain and fall back to the floor.

"Ichigo!"

"No matter," the ghost continued as if it couldn't hear them, "we'll find that out later, when we _return_ it." It raised the knife, pressing the blade to Toushiro's finger. "You know in some countries the penalty for stealing it cutting off a hand. I think I'm being lenient, this is just a finger."

Toushiro's eyes widened as Ichigo shouted all sorts of profanities at the ghost. He tried in vain to tug his hand from the ghost's grip, feeling his bones twist under the tight, iron grip. He whimpered, hot tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

"Shiro, baby, we'll get out of this," Ichigo croaked. "We'll get out of this."

Toushiro reached up with this free hand trying to pull the ghost's hand from his wrist. The sharp bite of the knife pressing against his finger had him squirming and he found his voice, screaming and sobbing.

"No," he shouted. "Stop! It's just a ring!"

The knife dug into the thin layer of muscles, and he felt hot blood run down his palm and knuckles. Slicing, white pain radiated from his finger and he screamed through a clenched jaw.

"Shiro!"

He scrabbled at the ghost's hand and his fingers touched the knife blade. He wasn't thinking, he just wanted it to stop. If the ghost wanted the ring that badly, he ground his teeth together and ripped the ring off his finger. "If you want it so fucking bad, here! Take it!"

The ghost paused, his eyes following the ring in Toushiro's hand. Toushiro sneered and tossed it to the side. With a loud growl the ghost leapt after it and vanished into thin air. Toushiro's heart was pounding and his breath was coming out in short gasps. He rolled over to face Ichigo and scrambled to his feet. They needed to get somewhere safe. He could take time to breathe later.

"Shiro," Ichigo gasped as Toushiro helped him to sit up. "Are you okay?"

Toushiro hooked Ichigo's uninjured arm over his shoulders. "I'll be fine; we need to get somewhere safe. Now."

Ichigo swallowed and grit his teeth as he managed to swing his legs under himself. Toushiro struggled to get to his feet with Ichigo leaning on him, and for the first time in his life he wished that he had taken up Ichigo's offer to work out with him. He ignored his shaking muscles and stumbled to the staircase. Ichigo was panting heavily and choking down groans of pain with each step. Toushiro didn't know if they were going to make it at this rate, he didn't even know how they were going to make it out of the attic. They nearly fell down the entire staircase; Toushiro caught himself at the last moment and Ichigo fought with his feet. They were both panting heavily once they reached the main floor. Toushiro adjusted Ichigo's arm and together they hobbled down the hallway.

"The bedroom is the closest," Ichigo muttered, "We can call for help there."

Toushiro nodded. The muscles in his back were shaking from supporting most of Ichigo's weight and his legs were growing numb. The hallway light was still on and he caught a glimpse of dust caked pants and a blood soaked shirt. Ichigo wasn't bleeding too badly, from what he could tell, but that wasn't a good sign either way. If he was in this much pain then most of it had to be internal.

Ichigo grunted in pain, nearly collapsing as one of his knees gave out. Toushiro clenched his jaw, feeling sweat gather on his forehead and lower back and pulled Ichigo back up. They had slowed down considerably and the hallway had never seemed longer.

"We're going to make it, Ichigo," he grunted. "Hang on."

They made it to the stair case, just a few feet away from the master bedroom when the lights started to flicker. Toushiro swore loudly and Ichigo hissed. They both tried to pick up the pace then what felt like a truck rammed into Toushiro's back. He shouted and went careening to the side, banging his shoulder into the wall. Ichigo crashed into him and they both fell to the floor in a heap. Ichigo was clutching his stomach with his good arm and Toushiro felt a bit dazed as he scrambled to get up. The ghost wasn't on them yet; they still had some time.

"Come on, love; we're almost there," Toushiro urged, hating to see his husband in so much pain but getting more frantic the longer it took him to stand. He reached down to pull Ichigo onto his shoulder. Ichigo ground his teeth together and screwed his eyes shut as he struggled to his feet.

The lights flickered again and the walls and floor began to shake. Toushiro's heart skipped a few beats. He glanced around, hoping to spy the ghost before it attacked again, but the only movements were from the picture frames jumping on their hangers. Ichigo swore softly, breathing deeply through his nose. Toushiro could feel the hitch in his chest and gently squeezed the hand over his shoulder. Then the lights crackled and hissed and they were thrown into darkness again. Toushiro's entire body went numb, while his insides twisted and knotted. He could see a little bit more in the hallway than he had in the attic, but shadows covered most of the walls and floor. He swallowed thickly and licked his dry lips. His breath was forming condensation, but he wasn't sure if he was shaking because of the cold.

He urged Ichigo to take a shaky step forward, but he wouldn't budge. He was hunched over Toushiro, his chin touching his chest, eyes shut, and breathing ragged.

"Ichigo, please," he mumbled, "We're almost there."

He started to shake, full body tremors, and he chewed his bottom lip bloody.

"Ichigo!"

Toushiro had no medical experience; the most he had dealt with was when Ken had scrapped a knee or gotten a cold. His job required him to know the protocol in case of a medical emergency – call an ambulance, make sure the kid was safe, keep the other kids and teachers calm, call the parents – but fuck if that was any good now. He felt like crying.

"Ichigo, you're okay," he mumbled, trying his best to keep his voice from trembling, "we're almost there, hang on. Just a little bit more, okay? You can do it, I know you can."

Ichigo grunted softly and his entire body tensed for a split second. Toushiro held his breath as Ichigo straightened, somewhat, relieving some of his weight from his shoulder.

"Ichigo-"

He stretched his neck, joints cracking loudly. Toushiro eyed him with growing worry; he'd never done that before.

"Ichi-"

He straightened fully, his left arm dangled uselessly at his side and he seemed to be favouring his right leg. Toushiro stepped back as Ichigo's skin went from heated and sweaty to ice-cold, and he felt fear rise in his chest. When Ichigo opened his eyes he stumbled back into the wall, knees shaking and bile rising to the back of his throat. Ichigo's eyes were clouded over; their beautiful, deep brown was covered with a milky-white film.

Toushiro shook his head in disbelief, shuffling down the wall. He was going to be sick; he was already sick. Ichigo limped towards him, his breath rasping loudly in the silence. Toushiro's vision was suddenly foggy and he felt a couple tears run down his cheeks. This couldn't be happening. He was stuck in a nightmare, he had to be. His heart was hammering against his chest and the world felt as if it was spinning around him. Ichigo stood in front of him and slowly reached out, wiping a tear from his cheek with his index finger. Toushiro drew in a sharp breath and pushed his back flush against the wall as if he could escape through it.

"Ichigo?" his voice was soft and weak.

Ichigo tiled his head to the side and smiled. Something tore inside of Toushiro. That was not his husband, that thing was not Ichigo. He jerked his head away from its touch. Anger crossed Ichigo's face and everything crashed to a screeching halt. Ichigo would never hurt him. Toushiro repeated that sentence over and over in his mind. Ichigo, who had arms the size of Toushiro's thighs and thighs almost the size of his waist, was one of the gentlest people he knew. He would never hurt him, even as he grabbed him by the hair and dragged him down the hallway to the back room. He would never hurt him. He threw him to the floor, kicking him roughly when he tried to crawl away. He would never hurt him. He picked up a knife from the bottom of the attic stairs then rushed back to Toushiro and grabbed him again before he even got the chance to run. He wouldn't hurt him. He shoved Toushiro against the wall and he went crashing to the floor, grazing his palms on the rough stonework. Ichigo hovered over him, brandishing the knife. He wouldn't hurt him. Toushiro leapt to the side, half running half crawling along the skirting board. Ichigo grabbed him by the back of his neck and slammed him into the wall. He sat dazed, and completely winded. Ichigo wouldn't hurt him. He stared up at Ichigo watching his mouth stretch into a sneer. He raised his leg and brought it down on Toushiro's ankle. On a normal day Ichigo could kick down a solid, wooden door; Toushiro had seen him do it before. Now, possessed by an angry, supernatural spirit, Toushiro felt his ankle give under Ichigo's boot. He cried out, hunching over his legs, tears of pain springing to his eyes, as his ankle began to throb profusely. Even then the sentence replayed in his head. Ichigo wouldn't hurt-

Ichigo kneeled down, capturing Toushiro's legs under him and fisted the front of his shirt despite his arm being injured. He raised the knife and tears flowed freely down Toushiro's face.

"Ichigo," he choked out, "please don't! This isn't you, please!"

Ichigo showed no signs of even hearing him.

"Ichigo, please!" He reached a hand out, pressing his fingertips to Ichigo's face. "Please, I love you; don't let it end like this."

A muscle in Ichigo's jaw twitched and he blinked rapidly, but before Toushiro could react there were heavy footsteps on the floor and someone leapt into Ichigo. They both went crashing to the floor while another person helped Toushiro to his feet.

"Toushiro," he recognised Rukia's voice. So that must have been Renji who had jumped on Ichigo. "Are you okay? Your face..."

He could imagine what he looked like with dried blood covering his chin and neck, and a swollen nose. He shook his head. "He has a knife, it isn't him."

Rukia slung his arm over her shoulders and helped him hobbled out of the room, while Renji struggled to keep Ichigo down. He may have been taller, but Ichigo was stronger by far. Toushiro only felt a modicum of relief when he saw the knife skid across the floor.

"Toushiro," Rukia urged him on.

"The master bedroom is safest. It can't cross the salt."

If Rukia was confused by his words she didn't show it. She helped him limp down the hallway until they heard Renji shout in pain from the back room. Rukia spun around and Toushiro lost his balance. He caught himself on the wall just in time to see Ichigo stride out of the backroom with condensation rising from his shoulders. Rukia drew in a sharp breath and Toushiro felt any bit of hope he had before shatter.

"Rukia," he whispered, "Run, get out of here, run as fast as you can."

She glanced to him. "But Renji-"

"Run!"

Ichigo was down the hallway in a blink of an eye. Toushiro shut his eyes, preparing for the worst, bracing his body for all kinds of pain. But it didn't come. Instead he heard Rukia gasp and a heavy thud like a body hitting the floor. He opened his eyes to see Ichigo pinning her to the carpet, his hands around her neck. He launched himself at Ichigo, yanking at his arms and pulling his shoulder and shirt, but Ichigo didn't even flinch. Rukia was gasping for air and Toushiro didn't know what to do. He pulled on the back of Ichigo's collar, pushed his chest tried to heave him off of Rukia with his shoulder. Ichigo got annoyed and flung out an arm tossing Toushiro to the side, as if he didn't weigh anything. Toushiro latched onto Ichigo's arm, clamping both his arms around Ichigo's bicep. Ichigo growled and released Rukia.

Time seemed to slow for Toushiro. Ichigo's clouded eyes locked with his and he stared right into them, into the brown that he knew was there.

"Ichigo, please. I'm not giving up on you."

* * *

**Ayyyyyyyy **

**Two cliff-hangers in a row, sorry I'm not sorry. **

**Alright, guys one more chapter to go! **

**-Mymomomo**


	20. The House at the End of Morrison Drive

Ichigo paused and looked down at Toushiro as he hung on to his arm, and for a second Toushiro thought that he saw his eyes flicker. His heart stopped and he dared to hope for a moment. Ichigo's mouth twisted and he let go of Rukia, turning his full attention to Toushiro. Toushiro swallowed thickly, loosening his grip on Ichigo's arm. It was possible that he was coming back to them; Toushiro knew he wouldn't let the ghost get the best of him. Ichigo's arm flopped against his side as he turned slightly to face Toushiro. Rukia took the chance and scrambled away from him. Toushiro watched her from the corner of his eyes as she got to her knees gasping for breath and coughing. He couldn't call out to her when Ichigo crowded him against the wall, looming over him with rattling breaths. Toushiro swallowed thickly and looked up at his husband.

"We're not letting it end like this," he whispered, letting go of Ichigo's hand.

Ichigo stared at him for a moment longer then leaned forward. Toushiro couldn't move; his body wouldn't let him. He saw Ichigo raise his hand then the next thing he knew his cheek was smarting, his nose was throbbing with renewed vigour, and he was on the floor. Ichigo hadn't held back with that blow either, his head was spinning, blood was rushing in his ears, and when he opened his mouth to breathe his felt his jaw move in a way it shouldn't have. He heard Rukia coughing out his name in the background. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his swimming vision and struggled to push his body back upright. Ichigo was crouching before him, staring with a slight frown on his face. His eyes were still milky and Toushiro didn't know what else he could do. Even Renji couldn't hold him down. It was hopeless. He rested the back of his head against the wall and let his eyes fall shut. The ghost had won. This was it. He took a shuddering breath through his mouth. If only he didn't have so many regrets. He felt tears drip down his cheeks. Maybe this was fitting; it was what he deserved. This past year had been too much; he couldn't handle it. He'd stressed out Ichigo and their marriage was falling apart. Even moving hadn't helped. His throat closed up. This would be easier; he couldn't fight any more.

He felt Ichigo draw closer and he wanted to shy away, pressing more firmly against the wall until he felt a hand on his cheek, smoothing away the tears.

"Don't cry," Ichigo said softly.

Toushiro's eyes flew open, his stomach jumping to his mouth.

"It's going to be alright; I'm going to save us."

His eyes were still clouded and Toushiro knew that the ghost was speaking, stuck in whatever distorted realm it was. His chest tightened and he felt sick. This wasn't Ichigo. Ichigo was gone. He hiccupped, feeling sobs and tremors wracking his body. The ghost tried to soothe him, gently caressing his cheek and mumbling quietly, but it only made Toushiro cry harder. He blubbered nosily, coughing and choking because his nose was too swollen to be of any use. The ghost pulled him into its chest and stroked his hair. It was still mumbling softly but Toushiro could not make out the words. He didn't want to.

He had felt hopeless before; even worse when Ken had died. But now, knowing that this was the end, that he wasn't going to come back from this, he felt cold, and empty. He was supposed to have gotten better, to have restarted his life, finally gotten well enough to stop taking medication, and fixed things with Ichigo. Maybe they should have had the talk before going after the ghost. He should have cleared the air, and now they were both going to die, not knowing if their marriage was going to make it or not. His throat was closing up with tears and the ghost was still muttering. He should have been stronger. He could have prevented this if they had just gotten to the bedroom faster. He swallowed, feeling Ichigo's hand comb through his hair. No, not Ichigo's. No matter how much it felt like him, it wasn't him. He was gone. He'd lost him, just like Ken.

He let the ghost manoeuvre them, turn him over so that it was under him. He wanted to vomit at the way Ichigo's stomach was swollen and how his chest rose and fell in uneven hitches. He tried to pull away, but Ichigo wound his arm around him. Rukia had run, he hoped to the bedroom to call for help. He and Ichigo might not make it, but there was no reason for them to die too. If Renji wasn't already dead. The ghost was nuzzling the side of his neck, still mumbling incoherently. Toushiro waited for it to bite into his skin, to strangle him, or stab him with the knife. He looked down to his legs, feeling cold inch its way through his body, from the centre of his chest to his fingertips and toes. He didn't move when the ghost grabbed his left hand, raising it to eye-level, and gently running his nail along the thin cut along the base of his ring finger. Toushiro blinked slowly; it probably wanted to finish the job. He felt his bottom lip tremble and more tears leaked from his eyes. He shouldn't care; he was going to die anyway.

The ghost shifted under him, then brought its other hand to Toushiro's. He let his head loll to the side and his eyes fall shut. It made no sense to struggle, he couldn't fight it. He had no hope of winning. Then something smooth and warm was slipped onto his finger, settling right above the knife wound. His eyes flew open to see his weeding band, sitting innocently on his finger and gleaming despite of the shadows. He dared to hope again.

"Ichi-"

A strong hand forced his face to the side but gentle lips covered his. He drew in a sharp breath and let himself fall into Ichigo. His nose flared every time it was bumped, brushed, or jostled, and his jaw was painful, but there was something about the kiss that told him that Ichigo was back.

"It's not going to end like this," Ichigo mumbled when they broke apart.

Toushiro slumped in relief. His eyes were clear, slowly fluttering shut, but clear. He let himself fall back, off of Ichigo and smiled. Even if the ghost was nowhere to be seen, even if it was going to attack them again, at least he had Ichigo. His vision was going dark at the edges and the floor swayed underneath him. The adrenaline that had been rushing through his body earlier had come to a halt and he felt every ache, twisted muscle, and broken bone. The hallways tilted sideways and he heard, rather than felt his head hit the carpet. There was a thudding off boots along the hallway and he saw bright beams of light shinning towards them. Help? Had Rukia made it? His thoughts grew sluggish and he barely registered as he was jostled into someone's arms and a light was shone into his face, passing out before they began asking questions.

...

Ichigo had two broken ribs, a punctured lung, a dislocated shoulder, and severe internal bleeding. Toushiro was amazed that he was alive, more so that he had managed to make it from the attic to the hallway with that. They had rushed him into surgery upon arrival at the hospital. When Toushiro woke up he had a splint in his nose and one on his ankle, and a stiff jaw – it had been dislocated, but was already fixed. He couldn't feel anything, and judging from the IV needle in his hand he was on heavy-duty pain medication. The doctor hadn't been expecting him to wake up so soon. He startled the nurse who had been injecting something into his IV. The first thing he did was ask for Ichigo. His entire body felt numb and his mouth had a bitter taste, but that was the only question on his mind and he refused to go back to sleep until it was answered.

He woke up again when they brought Ichigo back from surgery. There was an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth and he looked a bit pale, but Toushiro sighed in relief and watched through heavy eyelids as they set his husband up in the bed next to his.

Ichigo was awake when next he woke up. He was lying on his side, watching him, and smiled when he saw him wake up.

"We have got to stop meeting like this," Ichigo slurred.

Toushiro scoffed, looking around. "It's only you who's been here twice." He pushed himself into a seated position, and rubbed his eyes, they were dry and itchy and he really shouldn't be wearing his contacts for so long. He felt more cognisant than the last two times he had gotten up and he noticed that the IV had been removed from his arm.

"You okay?" Ichigo asked.

"I should ask you that." Toushiro sighed and gave a surreptitious glance around. "What happened-"

Ichigo grunted and shook his head. "Not here. I asked that they move us to a private room. Renji and Rukia are gonna come check on us later."

Toushiro nodded. "How long have you been awake?"

"A couple hours; I made a few calls."

Toushiro clicked his tongue. "You could have woken me up."

Ichigo smiled. "It wasn't necessary. Besides I haven't seen you sleep that soundly in ages."

Toushiro felt himself blush slightly.

"Shiro?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad that you're okay."

"... I'm glad that you're okay too."

"I would come over there to kiss you, but..."

Toushiro rolled his eyes and threw off the blankets. He hobbled over to Ichigo's bed, being careful not to place much weight on his injured ankle and sat on the edge of the bed when Ichigo shuffled over to make room. He didn't miss the way Ichigo grimaced at the moment.

He sighed and leaned over, cupping Ichigo's check with one hand. "You say the dumbest things, do you know that?"

Ichigo grinned and Toushiro gently pressed their lips together in a warm kiss. He didn't intend for it to get much deeper than that, but Ichigo drew him in, prodding his lower lip with his tongue. Toushiro smoothed his thumb across Ichigo's cheek. Feeling him, his warmth, the small bite of stubble that coasted his jaw, and he felt his eyes begin to prickle. It was too much, everything that had happened last night, almost losing him. He felt utter relief that they were both alive and he once again let his tears fall. He pulled back, with a soft hiccup, still not being able to breathe through his nose.

"Shiro?"Ichigo asked, craning his neck to see him.

Toushiro shook his head slowly and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. "I'm fine," he mumbled, his voice cracking. "We're both fine."

"Come here, baby." Ichigo raised his hand to let Toushiro fall to his side on the bed then wrapped it around his shoulders. He rested his chin on top of Toushiro's head and breathed in deeply, only to grunt in pain and tense.

"Ichigo!"

"I'm fine... forgot I can't do that for a while."

Toushiro sighed. This was the idiot who had saved him, who had risked his life for him, who he loved beyond reason. "I love you."

He felt Ichigo smile into his hair. "I love you too, babe."

Ichigo was moved into a private room a few hours later; Toushiro was going to be discharged that evening, once the doctor checked him over again. Renji and Rukia had come to visit. Both were still shaken up, but apart from a few bruises they were fine. Rukia wore a think woollen scarf around her neck; Renji insisted that he was fine, even though Rukia insisted that he have someone check to see if he was concussed. Ichigo had managed to knock him out, but didn't do any further harm. Toushiro had scoffed when Renji said that he didn't bruise that easily, and that he couldn't even tell that Ichigo had punched him.

"Lucky," he mumbled, "poke me too hard and I get a bruise."

Renji cocked his head and grinned. "That's 'cause you're pale as fuck."

"It's called albinism."

Renji frowned. "Really? You're albino?"

Toushiro narrowed his eyes and Rukia shook her head. "You couldn't tell?"

Renji shrugged. "Didn't think about it."

Toushiro watched as Ichigo attempt to smile at the exchange, but he could tell what he was thinking from the way he ground his teeth and stared at his hands. He reached out to take one of them in his. "That wasn't you, love," he said firmly. "You were possessed."

Ichigo offered him a weak smile and gently squeezed his hand.

"So what's the cover story?" Renji asked from his spot leaning against the wall. "I'm assuming that you don't want to tell the police that it was a ghost that beat you two senseless."

Ichigo chewed the inside of his cheek. "Did you say anything?"

"I mean... the police asked Rukia for a statement; they didn't see me."

"I said I came to check up you guys, since you've been having trouble with your power recently." Rukia said uneasily. "I couldn't think of anything else."

"No," Ichigo hummed, "That's good. You guys don't need to be more involved than you already are. Okay, so you came to check up on us... you called before, but we didn't answer so you came over and you found us already unconscious." He was silent for a while. Toushiro could see the gears turning in his head, the same way they did when he was thinking about one of his novels. "It was a home invasion... mostly rich people live on Morrison drive anyway, it would make sense, and since we're new they targeted us. We were already in bed when the power went out, then I went to go see. When I didn't come back you came to check on me, Shiro, and they got you too. We couldn't see much because it was dark."

Rukia hummed in agreement and Renji nodded.

"They won't find anyone though," Toushiro said, shaking his head, "No prints, no DNA..."

Ichigo chewed his lip. "Nothing was stolen, we're both alive... it'd be a hassle to press charges, don't you think?"

"The medical bills are going to be a nightmare, though."

"Insurance will cover it. We can afford it."

"We can?"

"Yeah... Oh right, I meant to tell you. Another one of my books got picked up by Hollywood. I have to head down there to talk figures and rights, but we should be good for a while."

Toushiro smiled, a bit shocked. "That's... That's really good, Ichigo."

Renji scoffed. "Oh come on, the man tells you one of his books is gonna be a movie and all you say is 'good'? At least give him a kiss."

"Shut up, Renji," Rukia growled, elbowing him.

Toushiro chuckled softly. Ichigo already knew how he felt.

They hammered out a few details until Renji and Rukia said that they should be heading home. They would come back later for Toushiro and to bring Ichigo some things from home. Toushiro knew that they were going to be all over the news. The school board was going to be on his tail for at least a month. He rubbed his temples, they were already talking about his relationship with Ichigo and he knew for a fact that more than a couple parents and one particular board member were trying to get him fired because of it. It would look fishy when they decided not to press charges, but maybe he could pull the stress card or plead emotional trauma to not want anything more to do with the attack. He huffed softly.

"What are you thinking about?" Ichigo asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

Ichigo clicked his tongue. "Shiro..."

He sighed. "Just the headache I'm going to have at work once everyone finds out about this."

Ichigo winced. "It's not going to be _that_ bad..."

Toushiro scoffed. "You've never met the people who are on the board."

"True... But I would hope that they would be more concerned than angry." Ichgio squirmed a bit, wiggling further into the pillows he had propped behind his back. The bed had been adjusted so that he was sitting upright.

"Most of them will. There are just one or two parents who hate me."

Ichigo nodded then took a careful shallow breath and Toushiro knew what was coming. "So... um... we should talk... about... us." He was staring at him lap, then almost shyly looked up to meet Toushiro's gaze.

Toushiro sighed deeply and sat down on the edge of the bed. "Yes, we should." His stomach began to twist.

They were both silent for a long while. Toushiro didn't know where to start. Almost a year's worth of tension had built up and he didn't want to even begin to chip away at the dam he had built. He balled the bed sheet in his fist and stared at his lap.

"I'll start," Ichigo said. "I don't want to get a divorce. I know what I said when we fought was shitty and out of line. I didn't mean any of it. I was angry and frustrated and-"

Toushiro shook his head. "No... you... you had every right to be. I was behaving foolish."

Ichigo swallowed. "What I said about your father-"

"You were right." He licked his lips and focused on the sheet. He and Ichigo needed to have this talk. There was no going forward if they didn't. He had to tell him what he was thinking, how he felt. He was his husband, damnit, he deserved to know. And he needed to know, if they wanted to get better. "You know what my father is like. He did mess me up and, yes, sometimes I still feel like my emotions aren't valid and I can't trust anyone because of him. I was hopeful when we got married, but I don't know if I'll ever be able to shake it."

"I'm not asking you to... I was out of line when I said that. I know how much he hurt you and I shouldn't have brought him up."

Toushiro's skin was itching and he wanted to get up and leave. He didn't want to talk about this. He got up and hobbled halfway to the door before sharply turning around and beginning to pace. He folded his arms around his stomach and took several calming breaths. He hadn't taken his medication last night, but he had to have this conversation. He had to force himself through it. Ichigo had wanted nothing more than to talk. It wasn't going to kill him. He forced himself to take a few deep, even breaths through his mouth, despite the taste of bile at the back of his throat.

"He was going to come up anyway," Toushiro muttered shaking his head. He had cut him off years ago, but he was still in his head. Every decision he made he could hear his jeering voice criticising him for not doing something or messing something up. "It's pathetic, right? I'm an adult. I'm married, we have a house... you think he wouldn't have this effect on me anymore."

"Shiro..."

He dug his fingernails into his sides and shook his head. "Anyway, he's not the problem now. You don't want a divorce." He paused, did a few more rounds around the room, and swallowed past the block in his throat. "I... I don't either, if I'm completely honest. I did some thinking while I was alone. I was only angry because you were moving on. You were moving on, making friends, making a new _life_, and I felt like I was still drowning."

"Baby, I'm not leaving you-"

He knew that, but for a long while he didn't feel it. "We process things differently – I don't know why I was getting so worked up about it." He did, actually. His stomach churned and he felt slightly nauseated. "I think... no... that was unfair of me no matter the reason. I shouldn't have faulted you for me not being able to keep up. I'm trying. I'm trying to move on. I went out with Rachel; I'm trying to make friends. I'm going to beat this depression." He took another deep breath and balled his palms into fists.

"I believe in you, baby. I know you can. It's been a hard year, and you're already getting better."

"We... we also need to talk about that." he hobbled over to stare out the window. Might as well get this over with too. He clenched his jaw despite the stiffness and focused on a tiny, red car that was looking for a parking space.

"Shiro?"

"Ken... I..." his throat closed on him.

"Shiro, we don't have to do this now."

He shook his head. He'd been pushing it off long enough. He'd been a coward long enough. If they wanted to, if he wanted to get better he needed to talk about him. Tears were already falling down his cheeks. "It was my fault," he choked out, "I killed him."

"No," Ichigo murmured softly, "baby, it wasn't. Believe me, it wasn't. It was that shitty driver and the rain."

"I should have made him go home with you."

"You couldn't have known. He wanted to spend time with you; he'd been with me all day."

Toushiro hiccupped and made the mistake of trying to breathe through his nose and ended up coughing.

"Baby, come here," Ichigo said.

Toushiro slowly turned around. Ichigo was clenching his jaw, but his eyes were glassy. Toushiro hobbled back to the bed and Ichigo took his hand in his. "It wasn't your fault. I don't want you to think that. What can I do to make you stop thinking that? God, that night was terrible enough," he paused to clear his throat. "I was waiting for you, and then when the hospital called... We lost Ken, but I could have lost you too." he paused again, shaking his head. "You don't need to take the blame for any of it." He swallowed and pulled Toushiro into his chest.

Toushiro shut his eyes and pressed his forehead to Ichigo's shoulder. When he had gotten the news that Ken was dead his whole world had shattered. He was ashamed to admit now how Ichigo had felt at the time had been the furthest thing from his mind. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I'm sorry; I caused you so much trouble. I don't deserve you."

"Baby, don't... you deserve me, you deserve so much more than me." He heard Ichigo's voice hitch as he smoothed his hands up and down Toushiro's back.

"I kept on pushing you away."

"You were depressed."

"I should have realised-"

"No, I wasn't in the best frame of mind either. I needed to have offered you better support; I should have spoken to you-"

"You tried to, I didn't listen. I was too much in my own head to see how badly you were hurting as well."

Ichigo shook his head slowly. "We fucked up."

Toushiro clenched his jaw. Ichigo could not be joking about anything right now. He frowned and was about to pull away when Ichigo spoke again.

"But we're going to fix it. You're not going to push me away and I'm not going to give up on you. Look, we nearly died trying to protect each other last night. I have hope that we can get better."

Toushiro swallowed and nodded, wrapping his arms around Ichigo's neck. Ichigo urged him onto the bed and he lay on his side, resting his forehead against Ichigo's collarbone. They fell into silence once more, but Toushiro's skin was no longer itching. His stomach still twisted when he thought about what was going to happen next, they still had a lot more to talk about. This was the first of a series of long and hard conversations, but at least he had gotten through it. He could get through the next one as well.

"About last night," he began softly, "the ghost... how did you get it to leave you alone?"

"I'm not too sure, it just disappeared."

Toushiro's stomach froze. "So it's still in the house?"

"I don't think so... towards the end I felt kind of light... it's hard to explain... like it felt almost happy."

Toushiro frowned.

"I think it passed on... I don't know. Having it posses me was... strange, like I kinda knew what was happening, but everything was jumbled. I couldn't control my body and I kept on seeing flashes of its memory. I... I just wanted to hurt something. But then you... when you spoke to me something cleared up and I think some of the ghost's memories got mixed with mine, because suddenly it didn't want to hurt you and I swear... you looked like that woman in the old picture I found... the ghost's wife... fiancée what have you."

Toushiro tilted his head. "So when it gave me back my wedding ring..."

"Maybe that's all it needed to find piece. How symbolic." Toushiro scoffed and went to punch Ichigo's shoulder but then stopped himself when he remembered that he was injured. "It was just coincidence that our memories got jumbled up like that, but I think that all he wanted was to be with his wife."

Toushiro's stomach began bubbling again. It was like a terrible lesson on how he shouldn't take Ichigo for granted. If the universe had wanted to give him a wakeup call, it could have chosen a much less extravagant and less dangerous way. "So no more ghost? That's it? It's gone."

"I think so." Ichigo smiled. He reached up and tangled his fingers in Toushiro's hair.

Toushiro shuffled closer and pressed his lips to his husband's. They were going to be fine.

...

Toushiro took a deep breath when he pushed open the front door and limped into the foyer. The kitchen was to his left and the living room to his right. The stairs leading upstairs lay before him. The last remnants of sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. And, the ghost was gone. He pulled the jacket Rukia had lent him tight around his body. Inside wasn't as chilly as he remembered it, but he still shivered as he carefully stepped over the line of salt and into the kitchen.

"Can I get you anything to drink?" he asked the Abarais. "We have tea and coffee" he opened the fridge, "Uh, orange juice... sorry, I don't keep any alcohol in the house since I can't..."

"It's okay, Toushiro," Rukia said brightly, "Tea sounds lovely."

Renji nodded in agreement.

Toushiro went to fill the kettle. Renji and Rukia were both silent as he let the kettle fill. Then there was a sudden crash that sounded like glass breaking, or something heavy and metallic falling against the kitchen tiles. He jumped, dropping the kettle into the sink with a crash. Water splashed everywhere and the water from the faucet rebounded and drenched his shirt before he could think to shut it off.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Toushiro," Renji apologised. "Dropped my keys, didn't realise..."

Toushiro slowly turned around, his heart still racing. "It's fine." He swallowed, willing himself to calm down. He took a few shaky breaths as Rukia came over and placed her hand on his shoulder, gently rubbing her thumb across his shoulder blade.

"You know what," Renji said, "I know that technically this house is safe now, but why don't you come stay with us for a while? At least until Ichigo is discharged and you don't have to be here all by yourself."

"Yeah," Rukia echoed, "If it'll make you feel better."

Toushiro hesitated. He couldn't impose on them, but he knew that it was going to take a while before every single noise didn't send him into a panic attack. He didn't want to impose though, and they had already done so much for him. He chewed the inside of his cheek. "I..."

Rukia wrapped her arm around his shoulders. "Honestly if it were me, I wouldn't want to stay here either."

He nodded. They were friends – and not just Ichigo's as they had proved last night. He needed to open up to get better. "Thank you, that's very kind."

"Do you need help getting your stuff?" Renji asked.

Toushiro shook his head. "No, I think I'll be fine with that."

Rukia still followed him upstairs and he was silently thankful for her presence. She made light conversation as he filled a bag with clothes and toiletries, and didn't make any comments when he swallowed a few pills and shoved the bottled into his bag.

He found that he still couldn't sleep at the Abarais'. He wasn't jumping at every noise, but he lay in bed, tossing from side to side, unable to find rest. He was thinking about Ichigo, about Ken, about the ghost. Even after he convinced himself that Ichigo was fine and that he didn't need to worry, he couldn't sleep. It must have been past midnight when his phone rang. He didn't know whether to be relieved for the distraction or annoyed that Isshin would call so late.

He picked it up, turning on the bedside lamp and sitting up in the bed. "Hello?"

Isshin let out a gasp like he had been holding his breath. "Toushiro! Thank god! Ichigo told me what happened, are you okay?"

Toushiro blinked, slightly stunned. "Yes, I'm fine, Isshin."

"Ichigo said-"

"I'm okay," Toushiro insisted. "It's only a broken nose and ankle."

"Your face! Did they set it right? Is your nose crooked?"

Toushiro chuckled softly; a bit surprised that he was even able to. "I don't know; it's too swollen to tell."

Isshin gasped. "My poor son. I'm catching the next flight to you guys. Yuzu's coming as well."

"You don't have to, Isshin."

"I'm coming anyway; you think I'm going to stay here while my boys are all alone and in pain?"

Toushiro sighed. "Send me your itinerary."

There was a pause then he heard Isshin's muffled voice, "Yuzu, how do I send Toushiro our itinerary?"

He shook his head and smiled. If anything his father-in-law would be a good distraction when he arrived.

...

Toushiro hadn't been expecting it, but they ended up having a New Years Eve party. Well, it wasn't so much of a party, since he still couldn't walk around too much and Ichigo was confined to either the bed or the couch. Isshin and Yuzu were there to help, as well as Rukia, Renji, and their girls. Rukia and Yuzu turned his kitchen into a war-zone and chased him from the room every time he tried to help. Renji and Isshin had been put on cleaning duty, tidying up all the dust that had accumulated in the bedrooms, hallway and living room. Ichigo suggested that they invite Rachel and then it somehow turned into a small get-together. Rukia's sister and brother-in-law showed up, and Renji's parents came along as well. Karin and Jinta came for two days, turning up on their doorstep unannounced with a six pack of beer, a get-well card and their suitcases. The biggest surprise, however, came right after the party had started.

Toushiro was sitting on the couch next to Ichigo listening as Jinta, Renji, and Karin fought over who had the best taste in the local micro-brewed beers. Rachel had gravitated to Yuzu and the two had ended up in the kitchen trading recipes for brownies and chocolate-chip cookies. The others were in various positions around the living room or wondering around the food set up on the dining table. He didn't hear the doorbell ring over all the voices and music, but then Rukia called him over. He froze in the doorway, thankful that he hadn't been carrying anything as he was bundled in a tight, warm hug. He hadn't seen Rangiku in years, not since she moved to Chicago for work. They had promised to meet up when she left, but the promise had withered away. Seeing her after so long, unchanged, still boisterous, and bubbly – a landmark from a much better time, he was almost bowled over and his throat felt like it was going to close up.

"Rangiku?" he stuttered in disbelief. He couldn't quite believe it. He cleared his throat and retuned the hug.

She pulled back after giving him a peck on the cheek. "I've been a terrible best friend, haven't I? Ohhh look at your face," she pouted. "Your poor nose... don't worry, you'll still be adorable. I bet you won't even be able to tell it was broken when it heals."

Toushiro blinked. "How... why... what are you doing here?"

She smirked and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "You threw a party, and I should take personal offence that you didn't invite me."

Toushiro was still stunned. "How-"

"Ichigo told me, darling. After you were being so elusive over my texts, I had to call the big guns." Her smile vanished in a flash and she pulled Toushiro back into her chest. "How're you doing?"

"I'm fine."

She let go of him and raised a perfectly shaped eye-brow. "We'll talk later; I'm not letting you beat yourself up over anything this time, okay?"

He shook his head, but felt his mouth stretch into a smile.

"Let's go inside, I'm freezing my ass off out here. Why the hell did you choose Wyoming of all places? And this little, hick town? There's nothing to do here?"

"Ranigku!" Ichigo exclaimed from the couch, "You made it!"

She let go of Toushiro to hug him carefully. "Wouldn't miss my favourite couple's party for anything. Momo sends her love; she wanted to come, but the baby... Don't look at me like that Toushiro, she told you about it. She sent out a whole email chain – please tell me you read it."

He chewed the inside of his cheek. He hadn't checked his personal email in months. He hadn't the heart to.

"Speaking of babies, where's Yuzu?"

Silence fell over the room. Ichigo snapped his head to stare at Rangiku and Isshin nearly dropped his drink. Karin paused mid sentence, her mouth still open. And Jinta looked like he had just been struck by lightning and was about to faint.

"What?" the three Kurosakis hissed in unison.

Rangiku looked sheepish for a second. "Oh, was that still a secret? Fuck."

Isshin scrambled to the kitchen and minutes later Yuzu came out with a strained smile on her face, Isshin was practically floating behind her. "I was going to make an announcement once we got back to San Francisco," she said, starting to blush. "I'm due in August."

The entire house erupted and Toushiro let himself get swept up in the euphoria.

...

"Why didn't you tell me you called Rangiku, you ass?" Toushiro grumbled.

Ichigo grinned sheepishly. "She called me, you were ignoring her texts, what was I supposed to do? Not tell her anything?"

"You could have warned me?"

"And miss the look on you face when she got here?"

Toushiro rolled his eyes. She had left a few minutes ago in a taxi, refusing to let either of them drive her to the airport while they were still injured. Renji had offered to drive the rest of the Kurosaki's earlier that day, and it was now just the two of them in the house. They weren't scared, but it felt strange with just the two of them after almost three entire days of it being full. Something felt like it was missing.

"Alright, I'm gonna take a shower," Ichigo announced, slowly rising from the couch. Toushiro took up his place at his side, bracing him as he stood.

"Do you need help?" he asked.

Ichigo hummed softly. "I think I can manage."

He helped him up the stairs, a long and awkward journey since he couldn't walk that well either. "I think you should stay upstairs until you're better."

Ichigo clicked his tongue. "That's so boring, though."

"Yeah, but I can't carry you, you big oaf."

Ichigo stuck out his tongue. "It's muscle, not fat."

A soft chuckle rose up unexpectedly from Toushiro's stomach. "Oh, I know that."

He pushed open the bedroom door, ashamed to be out of breath from walking up the stairs.

"Shiro?" Ichigo asked as they entered the room, "What's this?"

"What?" Toushiro and peered around the door frame. He stopped in the doorway when he saw rose petals strewn all over the bed and floor. Candles had been placed around the room, and a bowl of incense was smoking from their dresser. He looked to Ichigo to the bed then back again. His husband looked as confused as he felt, but then he sighed when he realised what was going on. "Rangiku," he mumbled.

"Ohhh," Ichigo drawled. "She wanted us to..."

"She always wants us to. I guess she found out that we hadn't been... living together for a while." He felt himself blushing and he raked his fingers through his hair as he spotted a basket of dark chocolates, honey, and bananas, figs, and strawberries on the nightstand. "Oh god..."

Ichigo chuckled, straining to keep his breathing even, and sat down on the edge of the bed. "At least it wasn't a bottle of Viagra."

"Ichigo!"

He continued to grin as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it to the side. Toushiro's exasperation was short lived when his stomach turned the moment he saw the mottled bruising on Ichigo's torso and the stitches along his stomach. "It would be a shame to just let this go to waste."

Toushiro raised an eyebrow. "You're still injured."

Ichigo shrugged. "Not the parts the count."

Toushiro glared at him. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

Toushiro grit his teeth, but Ichigo was giving him a very convincing set of puppy-dog eyes. It was as if he was made to do the expression. He sighed softly and shook his head. Ichigo shuffled backwards on the bed, and patted the spot beside him. Toushiro stared at him, chewing his bottom lip, and wondering how they were supposed to do this without aggravating Ichigo's injuries. He folded his arms across his chest and sat down next to Ichigo. Ichigo turned his head to look at him and gave him a small smile. He raised his hand to cup Toushiro's cheek then leaned forward to kiss him lightly on the lips. That was all that was needed for Toushiro to give in. He gently wound his arms around Ichigo's neck and kissed back. He felt Ichigo's lips stretch into a smile and his other arm came up to hook around his waist.

"Fine," Toushiro whispered, slowly pulling away. "But we do this on my terms." He didn't even know how his own body would react. He'd been feeling better since he came home from the hospital, but there had been a few times where he'd still felt like complete shit. He was still trembling as well and his appetite hadn't returned. But, he was determined not to let the side effects get to him.

Ichigo chuckled softly. "That's fine by me. It's hot when you take charge."

Toushiro rolled his eyes then eyed the pillows behind them and chewed the inside of his cheek. He could prop Ichigo up to keep him from straining his stomach, but knowing the man he'd manage to strain himself regardless. He gave Ichigo a quick peck on the cheek, before shuffling around to arrange the pillows and blankets.

"Shiro?"

"Take off your pants."

"Ah, that's what I like to hear."

Toushiro scoffed as he hopped off the bed and went to draw the curtains, and picked up a box of matches from his night stand and set about lighting all the candles. They were scented, he realised, jasmine and something else. He rolled his eyes, wondering when exactly Rangiku had gotten all of this. She hadn't even been there that long. Ichigo cleared his throat as Toushiro blew out the match. He was back on the bed, sitting amongst the pillows and grinning widely. Toushiro felt himself blush as he made his way back to the bed. He stopped at the night stand and peered into the basket, before tilting his head and picking up a box of chocolates. He smiled when he noticed that it was one of Ichigo's favourite brands. He crawled onto the bed and settled himself on Ichigo's thighs. Ichigo was watching him with rapt attention with his mouth hanging open slightly.

"So we're actually doing this?" he asked.

Toushiro opened the chocolates and selected one before placing the box to the side. "Yes." he leaned forward, gently bracing one arm on Ichigo's shoulder and pressed their lips together. Ichigo's mouth parted almost as soon as their lips met. Toushiro gently prodded his bottom lip with his tongue. It was going to be a struggle to keep things slow, he thought with a wry grin. Ichigo wound both arms around his waist, and began toying with the waistband of his sweat pants. He broke the kiss moments later. Ichigo tried to follow, but he stopped him, by pressing gently on his shoulder. Ichigo's pupils were blown as he stared hungrily at him. Toushiro smirked as he settled back on his thighs and took a small bite of the piece of chocolate. Ichigo licked his lips as he watched.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're going to tease me tonight?" he asked.

Toushiro tilted his head. "You did say it would be a shame to let all this go to waste."

Ichigo groaned. "And you wanted me naked for this why?"

Toushiro shrugged and pressed the rest of the chocolate to Ichigo's mouth. Ichigo opened a bit wider than necessary, making sure to lick Toushiro's fingertips. Toushiro followed with another soft kiss once he swallowed.

"Do you think any of this stuff actually works?" Ichigo asked.

"I don't know. It's what they say anyway."

"That's nice chocolate, but I don't think it'll make me feel any hornier."

Toushiro rolled his eyes, and pressed another piece to his mouth. He wasn't a fan of dark chocolate, or chocolate in general, but it had seemed like the easiest thing to eat from the basket. He picked up one of the figs next. He rolled it between his fingers before taking a bite, then passing it off to Ichigo. He wasn't a fan of figs either. The fruit was small enough for Ichigo to fit the whole thing in his mouth and he maintained eye contact with Toushiro as he chewed and swallowed.

"So, you're just gonna feed me until all this is done?"

"The honey might make a mess."

Ichigo chuckled softly. "You're the one who needs feeding."

Toushiro paused, instinctually looking down at himself, and starting to feel uneasy. He had been trying to eat lately, but he hadn't been that good at it. He glared at the way his knees stood out as they bent on either side of Ichigo's hips. When was the last time he had even eaten anything? He should have been keeping better track. He was never going to get better at this rate.

Distantly, he heard Ichigo click his tongue and then a hand was gently forcing him to look up.

"Hey, babe, stay with me. I didn't mean it like that. You're beautiful, and I love you."

Toushiro blinked and swallowed thickly. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Ichigo moved his hand to cup the back of his head and guided their lips together. Toushiro forced himself to relax; allowing that comment to get to him would undermine everything he was trying to do. So he concentrated on Ichigo's lips, the way they moved against his, their softness, and the sweetness left over from the chocolate. He did have to work hard to concentrate and not to let his thoughts spiral, but when Ichigo threaded his fingers in his hair and his other hand lightly traced his spine it became much easier.

Ichigo must have felt the tension leave his body, because he broke the kiss and traced Tosuhiro's bottom lip with his thumb. "There we go." He smiled widely. "Now, come; we have this entire basket of food to get through."

Toushiro pressed his forehead to his collarbone. He took a few deep breaths to chase away the last of his anxiety. "No," he mumbled as he straightened and pulled off his shirt. "We can save those for another time."

Ichigo almost started drooling, or at least it looked like he was about to. He helped Toushiro out of his sweater and before it was over his head, he was running his hands up and down Toushiro's ribs and chest. Toushiro carelessly threw the shirt behind him and tried not to shift around too much as Ichigo's fingers tickled. He leaned forward again and gently pressed his lips to Ichigo's. Ichigo hummed softly as Toushiro threaded his fingers into his hair. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes, just letting the kiss carry him away. He loved Ichigo, that was one thing he couldn't deny and something he didn't want to deny. He loved him so much. Ichigo nibbled his bottom lip and he drew back slightly to catch his breath before joining once more and deepening the kiss. Ichigo's fingers pressed into his sides, thumbs circling his hipbone and dipping under his waistband. He couldn't fault Ichigo for being a bit impatient. The last time they had sex was... weeks or had it been a month already. He was actually surprised that he hadn't brought it up before. Or maybe he had been in too much pain.

Ichigp pulled back slightly. "You think too much," he mumbled between placing a series of soft pecks to Toushiro's lips. "What is it this time?"

Toushiro massaged the back of Ichigo's head with his fingertips. "Are you sure we can do this?"

Ichigo tilted his head to the side. "Ummm... I..." he broke off with a sigh. "You're not feeling up to it?"

"No, that's not it... I mean you broke a rib... can you?"

Ichigo chuckled softly. "I'll be fine."

Toushiro wasn't convinced.

"We'll take it slow and," his mouth stretched in to a wicked grin. "You can ride me."

Toushiro felt his cheeks heat instantly. He didn't know why Ichigo's words made him so embarrassed; they were married and he'd ridden Ichigo many times before. He blushed harder. Ichigo was still grinning up at him and he smoothed his thumb across his cheek.

"What do you say?"

Toushiro breathed out through his nose and placed his hand over Ichigo's, nuzzling into his palm. Rangiku's set up had been flawless, he had to admit, and he'd kind of be an asshole if he told Ichigo no, especially since he'd been playing along up until then. He'd most definitely be an asshole.

"Okay." He kissed Ichigo's palm.

"Then these need off." Ichigo hooked his thumb around his waistband and tugged. "Now."

Rolling his eyes, Toushiro slid off of Ichigo and the bed and slowly pulled his sweats down his legs. Ichigo had turned his head to watch, staring unabashed as Toushiro bared himself. They locked eyes when he was done and Toushiro felt his breath catch in his chest. Ichigo's eyes, those beautiful, brown doe-eyes, somehow managed to banish all his insecurities. Too skinny, too short, too pale, too sick. Up to this day he still did not know what Ichigo saw in him, but with that expression on his face, Toushiro found himself not caring.

"Come here, beautiful," Ichigo mumbled, holding out his arm to guide Toushiro back to the bed.

Toushiro scoffed. "I don't know why you call me that. You're the pretty one."

Ichigo shook his head. "You're gorgeous." He placed a hand behind Toushiro's head and stretched forward, inviting him for a kiss. Toushiro settled back on top of Ichigo's hips. His knees dug into the mattress on either side of Ichigo's waist as he pressed his lips to Ichigo's. His medication didn't make him numb, per say, but it had been a while since he had felt something this intense. He wrapped his arms around Ichigo's neck, tangling his finger in his hair as Ichigo raked his nails up and down his sides. They broke apart panting.

"Did Rangiku put any lube in that basket?" Ichigo's voice was husky.

Toushiro leaned over to the nightstand. Sure enough there was a bottle innocently sitting amongst the fruit and chocolate. He didn't know whether to feel annoyed at her forwardness or to thank her for it. He picked up the bottle and handed it to Ichigo. "Of course she did."

Ichigo captured his lips again. "I need to send her a gift card later."

Toushiro kissed along his jaw. "I will have no part in that."

...

They lay there curled around each other, not caring about clean up, until they were at the edge of sleep. Toushiro was almost euphoric as he stared at his husband. Ichigo had probably already fallen asleep, but his arms were still tight around Toushiro. And he felt safe.

* * *

**It's Done! **

**Well that's all folks, hope the end was worth the build up :)**

**Now on to the next project so look out for that in the next couple of weeks. It's gonna have dragons.**

**As usual the link to the full version of this chapter will be in my profile **

**-Mymomomo**


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